Angel of Death, Angel of Love
by Raven in Red
Summary: When her father is murdered, Grace Reilly receives a calling to be the Saints' guardian angel. Between her God-given duty, the disappearance of her childhood friend, and her mother turning a gun on her, Grace seeks comfort and love in the arms of one of her beloved Saints. ConnorOC. Old summary inside. During and after BDS1
1. Enter the Angel

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 1**: Enter the Angel

I think it was fate that brought my weary soul to McGuinty's this Saint Patrick's Day.

As I stumbled down the dark streets of South Boston, alone even though I definitely knew better, the memory was still fresh in my mind. Earlier that day, I had received a cryptic visit from two Boston police officers, informing me that my parents had been killed in a drive-by mob shooting and that their bodies had been looted and burned in a dumpster.

At twenty-two years of age and just past college holding a worthless degree in architecture (as long as I stayed in Boston, how would I possibly find work as an architect?), I had been depending on my mom and daddy for just about everything. They fed me, clothed me, and gave me a roof over my head as long as I chipped in with the rent every month. Up until the day they died, they had been begging me to find myself a boyfriend. "As much as we love you, sweetheart," my daddy said to me once, "we want you to get out into the world and spread those angel wings the Good Lord gave you."

I'd had potential back then. I had dreams, and I intended to reach them.

Then, everything changed with six gunshots, a gallon of gasoline, and a fifty-cent cigarette lighter. Now, I was alone in my parents' apartment, which had been handed to me in their will.

Whatever. It was Saint Patrick's Day, my favorite holiday of the year due to my half-Irish background (from my daddy's side). It was time for me to drink, have a little fun, and just for a moment erase my problems.

I had never been to McGuinty's before, but a man at my nearest T station had mentioned it to me and I'd decided to go. Despite my sheltered upbringing in Boston's most privileged districts, I knew the streets of South Boston well from my days as a daredevil. When I entered through the pub's creaky old doors, I already felt at home.

"Well, boys, it looks like we've got ourselves a new girl!" A cheerful voice, characterized by a beautiful Irish accent, sounded immediately as I approached the dimly-lit bar. While the hum of conversation never stopped, each and every patron took a quick second to glance over at me. The owner of the voice was clearly taking more time than necessary. I couldn't help but notice how gorgeous he was, with his piercing blue eyes and charming smile.

"What can I get for you, my dear?" the elderly bartender asked once he had my attention, kindly tipping his hat at me before simply tossing it to the side.

"I'm up for anything tonight, and don't ask why," I said bluntly, but with a smile.

"Sure thing, lassie," the bartender said, buzzing off to get my drink. As he reached the other end of the bar, the words, "FUCK! ASS!" erupted from his lips, sending a ripple of giggles through my body.

"Well, thank you for the very warm welcome," I said to the Irishman by my side once my laughter died down.

"With pleasure, miss," he said, bringing his head back to take a long sip of Guinness. "So what brings a lady like yourself to this part of town?"

"Maybe once I've had a bit to drink, I can tell you," I said, not wanting to break down in tears if I didn't have any alcohol to disguise it.

"A bit?" he looked at me with one brow raised. "Darlin', in this shithole, 'a bit' would probably put you in the ground."

"We'll just see about that, then, won't we?" I stared him down with a playful smile, silently daring him to challenge me again.

"What's your name, lass?" he asked politely.

"Grace Reilly," I said in return. "And despite my lack of accent, I promise I'm Irish."

"Hey, it's Saint Patty's Day," he said. "Everyone's Irish tonight. I'm Connor MacManus, and this is my brother Murphy." He stopped to gesture at the man by his side, who gave me a polite smile and a quick wave.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," I said as I shook each brother's hand.

"Hey, Connor, be a gentleman and let the lady have your chair," said Murphy as my drink was slid across the bar to me. "There aren't any left."

"Hold it, Murph," Connor said. "I've got a better idea." Without asking first, he bent down, secured his muscled arms around my waist, and lifted me right up into his lap.

"Well, that's certainly an option," I remarked as one of Connor's arms remained around my thin waist. My frame had always been small, but he made it all the more obvious.

"Comfortable?" It didn't take a genius to know that Connor was flirting with me.

"God, yes," I said as I took my first sip from my fresh pint of Guinness. "Beer _and_ a gorgeous Irishman? How did I get so lucky?"

"That depends," Connor challenged. "Which one of us are ya referrin' to?"

"Oh, this is a tough one," I said, my voice drenched in sarcasm (a.k.a. my second language). "Connor… or Murphy?" I looked back and forth between the two. "Murphy… or Connor?" Before either of them could make a comment, I leaned over and gave Connor's cheek a quick peck. As I pulled back, his smile seemed to come straight from Heaven itself.

"Aww, jeez," Murphy groaned, smirking as he shook his head. "Darlin', I'm gonna warn you now: you won't be gettin' rid of him anytime soon."

"Does it look like I want to?" I fired back, surprised at how playful I was being, especially after getting such life-changing news. Maybe it was just the beer starting to set in. When Murphy smirked in response, I added, "And I'm going to forget that you referred to me as a lady."

"I'll make note of that," Connor remarked.

"Get a room," Murphy muttered with a smirk before moving to the other end of the bar. "I'll let you two have a little privacy."

"So, you never answered my first question," Connor said, his voice carrying a much more casual tone. I could already sense that, when not around his brother, Connor was a perfectly sweet, charming, and pleasant man.

"Oh, where do I start?" I wondered aloud, scooting off of his lap and into what had just been Murphy's barstool. Connor looked a little disappointed, but he brightened up when I made sure to completely face him.

"Take your time," Connor said, clearly sensing my discomfort. The flirting charade was over. His intense blue eyes had me pinned, and I had to tell him the truth.

"My parents were killed this morning," I said. Somehow, despite its freshness, the memory didn't bring even the slightest pang of sadness to my heart. I was completely and totally calm.

"Oh, Lord on high," Connor said. "How did it happen, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"I don't mind at all, honestly," I reassured him. "I needed to tell someone." Before I continued, I brought the level of my glass down to half. "They were taking a shortcut while walking to the T station after work, and a car full of Russian mobsters pulled up and blew them to pieces with a 50-caliber. They then looted their bodies and burned them in a dumpster."

"Jesus," Connor was clearly in shock. "And you seem perfectly fine." He was looking at me like I was crazy.

"Darling," I looked him right in the eye. "I would be crying hysterically right about now, but I've got half a pint of the nectar of the Heavens seeping into my bloodstream. Until it's out of my system, I'm fine."

"I'll take your word for it," Connor said, cracking a relieved smile. "Will you be able to get by without them?"

"For the moment, no," I admitted with a sigh.

"Is there anything you need?" Connor asked. Although I was staring into my glass, I could feel that he was still looking at me.

"You know what I really need?" I looked up at him with a cute smile after a long pause of thought.

"What's that, darlin'?" he asked, leaning forward just a bit.

"I need to finish this pint and get into a good fight!" I finished with one of the happiest laughs I'd had in years.

"The first part, I can help you with," Connor said with a smirk. "The second, I'm not so sure about."

"I didn't mean with _you_!" We both burst out laughing. "I don't think you could handle me!"

"Maybe he can't, but I sure as hell can!" Murphy suddenly announced, coming up behind me and gently tickling my stomach.

"How about this just for a warm-up?" I challenged. "I'll buy a shot for whichever one of you can beat me in an arm wrestle. If I win, the loser owes me one."

"Lass, do you really know what you're getting' yourself into?" Connor shook his head in disbelief as the three of us moved away from the bar and over to an empty table. My response was a quick flex of my biceps. I'd made money in college from betting on arm wrestles with just about anyone who was willing to accept the challenge. "I'm not convinced yet," he said, shaking his head.

"Shut the fuck up," I said playfully, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek again. Then, I took a step back to face both brothers. "Who's first?"

"I'll go since Connor's too much of a fucking pussy to take on a lady," Murphy said, playfully punching his brother in the shoulder.

"Call me a lady one more time," I said, smirking and leaning in so that our faces were mere inches apart. "I dare you."

"Sit the fuck down and let's do this shit," Murphy fired back, his smirk utterly devilish.

"I'll buy you a shot whether you win or not," Connor said, bending down to kiss my hair as I took Murphy's right hand in mine and secured my elbow against the banged-up pub table.

"Ready…" I began. "Now!"

Using all the strength that my years of experience had given me, I was able to secure a good lead over Murphy. He groaned in pain as my fingernails bit into his skin, but he was able to match me and meet me back in the middle.

"Getting' tired yet?" he challenged. Sweat was beginning to bead around his hairline, and every vein in his hand was throbbing, whereas I still had perfect composure save for a few stray strands of hair.

"Hell no," I said, refusing to break the playful fierceness of my voice. It was then that I noticed Murphy glance back at Connor and give him a quick nod. Before I knew what was happening, Connor's hands were around my waist, attacking me with a rain of tickles.

"No fair, you fucking asshole!" I cried out as he brought me to my feet and spun me around to face him. "That better be worth a shot!" The laughter that rang from him was something I wouldn't trade for all the world.

"Aww, come on, darlin', he's just playin' with ya." Murphy insisted, snaking his arms around my shoulders and hugging me just the way a best friend would.

"He's playing with hot water," I said, keeping my gaze searing into Connor's. "And he's gonna get burned."


	2. The Angel and Her Saint

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 2**: The Angel and Her Saint

As the night drew on and we were some of the last left, it was clear that something was brewing between Connor and me. To pay back for ruining my arm wrestle with Murphy, he bought two shots (one for himself as well as the one he owed me) and we drank them together, but that was just the beginning. Once we were starting to feel the slightest bit tipsy, I found myself back in his lap with my head tucked into the crook of his neck as we held a conversation with Rocco, an old acquaintance of mine and a good friend of the brothers'. I knew he had ties to the Italian Mafia in Boston, but I had no idea how deeply those ties went.

"Alright, Grace, how is it that you know Roc when you've never known us?" Murphy asked well into the conversation.

"He had a one-night stand with this fucking drugged-out whore I knew from college," I explained, my voice ever-so-slightly slurred. I was more concerned with how warm Connor's body was as I snuggled up against him. He was also smoking a cigarette, and was particularly careful not to get it anywhere near my long brown curls.

"Yeah, and she beat me in an arm wrestle and made me cough up fucking fifty bucks," Rocco admitted. The two Irishmen erupted in a fit of laughter.

"Roc, I conveniently avoided sharing that little factoid so I could leave you with a little dignity, so you brought that on yourself," I said once my own laughter had died down.

"Listen, listen, boys!" Doc, the bartender, called everyone's attention. "I've got some very bad news." I lifted my head from Connor's shoulder to hear what he had to say. "I'm gonna have to close down th-th-th-the bar. Well, the Russians are buyin' up buildin's all over the town, including this one – FUCK! ASS! – and they're not lettin' me renew my lease." Everyone immediately began to groan in both frustration and disappointment. Even though I was barely affected by such news, I could definitely feel the sadness of my two Irishmen.

"Well, let me talk to my boss," Rocco suggested. "Maybe he can do something." Connor and Murphy immediately started protesting, knowing that there was probably no hope wherever the Mafia was concerned.

"Hey, hey, listen, fellas," Doc interrupted. "I don't wan' anyone to know, so you keep yer traps shut! Well, you know what they say: people in glass houses sink sh-sh-ships!"

Any decorum, if there ever was any, was lost as the bar was lit up with loud, rowdy laughter. I laughed so hard that, combined with the alcohol, I fell off of Connor's lap and straight into Murphy's arms. "Don't worry, Conn," Murphy said, hoisting me up into his lap and trying to calm his brother's instant flare of concern. "I've got her."

"Hey, Doc, I've gotta buy you like a proverb book or somethin'," said Rocco. "This mix-n-match shit's gotta go!"

"Wha'?" Doc was utterly confused at Rocco's remark.

"A penny saved's worth two in the bush, idn't it?" Connor had decided to play along.

"And don't cross the road if you can't get out of the kitchen!" Murphy chimed in.

Just as everyone had begun to laugh again, we heard the door open and turned on our stools to see three big, beefy, leather-dressed men enter the pub. Even though I was still in Murphy's lap, Connor reached over and laid a gentle hand on my knee, clearly anticipating trouble from these men.

"What's this, then?" Connor wondered aloud.

"I am Ivan Checkov, and you will be closing _now_," the men's leader announced. The thickness of his Russian accent and just the way he carried himself told me that this was definitely a mob guy. Now, I was quite appreciative of the brothers' defensive nature.

"Checkov?" Murphy said, hoisting me down off of his lap. I went to stand between Rocco and Connor. "Well, this here's McCoy," Murphy joked, slapping an arm around Rocco's shoulder. "We find a Spock, we got us an away team."

"Me no mood for discussion," Checkov declared, immediately shushing the laughter from Murphy's comment. "You-" he pointed at Rocco, "you stay. The rest of you – go now."

"Why don't you make like a tree… and get the fuck outta here!" Doc said bitterly.

"You know he's got 'til the week's end, right?" Connor was playing peacemaker. "You don't have to be hard asses, do ya?"

"Yeah, it's Saint Patty's Day," said Murphy. "Everyone's Irish tonight! Why don't you just pull up a stool and have a drink with us?"

With one smooth motion, Checkov smacked the glasses out of Rocco's and my hands, sending them crashing to the floor and splashing beer over anyone who was close enough. Connor attempted to get in front of me, but I quickly whispered, "It's alright. It's alright."

"This is no game!" Checkov shouted. "If you won't go… we will make you go."

For a quick moment, Connor turned to me, his face so close that the smoothness of my cheek brushed up against the stubble of his chin. "I'm not goin' to let ya get hurt when I've just met you," he whispered.

"I can take care of myself, but I don't at all mind the help," I whispered back.

"Just let us take care of things," he insisted.

"I'll get involved if I want to," I said with a smirk.

Admitting defeat, Connor turned back to face Checkov. "Listen, if you want to fight, you can see you're outnumbered here. We're trying to be civil, so I suggest you take our offer."

"_I_ make the offers," Checkov declared.

"Hey, Boris!" Rocco finally broke in. "What would you do if I told you your pinko Commie mother sucks so much dick, her face-" He had no time at all before he was silenced by a heavy punch to the jaw. Only seconds later, Connor and Murphy were making obvious threats, but I had no hope of understanding them as they were all in Russian. The boys finished their threatening with a shot of whiskey before each picking a mobster and tackling him to the ground. The other remaining patrons joined in immediately after.

"Hey, Gracie, you wanna help?" Connor called me over to where he had one of the mobsters pinned against the wall. He had all of a sudden used my greatly-despised nickname, but somehow it sounded utterly charming coming from his lips.

"Hell, yeah!" I insisted, striding over and landing a powerful knee thrust right in the man's groin.

"Excellent!" Connor praised me, taking my face in his hands and roughly kissing my forehead before jumping back into the action. I immediately saw Murphy pinned up against a liquor shelf, but he soon smashed two bottles against his attacker's head, freeing himself.

Once the three had been taken care of, Checkov was tied to the counter while his accomplices were dumped in the alley. "What the fuck are you gonna do?" I asked Connor, coming up by his side and finding his arm around my waist.

"Watch and learn, darlin'," he said with a mischievous wink. Murphy tossed him a bottle of heavy liquor, which he uncorked and poured onto the seat of Checkov's trousers just as the mobster had begun to stir. "Oh, shit!" I exclaimed with an evil grin as Connor tossed his lit cigarette onto the liquor, lighting the bastard's ass ablaze as he screamed in pain.

"Murph, you make sure this gets taken care of," Connor said as he threw a glass of water over the fire. "I think the lady's seen enough excitement for one night."

"Keep it tame, my dear brother," Murphy said with true Irish mischief in his voice. He leaned over and gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Grace." With his arm still around my waist, Connor led me out of the bar and a little ways down the street.

"My God, I don't think I've had so much fun in my whole life!" I gasped once we stopped under a flickering street light. "I can't thank you _enough_!"

"My pleasure, Gracie," Connor replied with a handsome smile. "I know it won't make up for losin' your mum and dad, but I'm glad I could help."

"You know, I really don't like being called Gracie," I pointed out, my voice slightly firm. "Or being referred to as a lady."

"Well, what would you prefer?" Connor asked lightly. "Angel?"

"Absolutely not," I said plainly. "And how did you come up with that so quickly?"

"Those eyes of yours wouldn't fool anyone," Connor said smoothly. "And why not?"

"That's what my daddy called me, right up until the day he died," I explained. "I was Angel to my daddy and Gracie to my mom."

"Then you will always be Grace to me," Connor reassured me.

"Always?" I decided to resume our playfulness. "Are you referring to my desire to see you again?"

"I didn't know you had such desires," Connor said with a devilish smirk. "But I think we can work something out."

"Well, I have no obligations," I said. "I quit my job this morning since they wouldn't allow me any grief leave, and my parents left me a trust fund, so I'm all set for a _long_ time. Plus, I intend to spend quite a while in this neck of the woods."

"Well, then it's settled," Connor said brightly. "Tomorrow morning. I'll be around."

"It's a date," I said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before turning and making my way back to my parents' – now my – house.

I hadn't made it twenty feet before a thought forced me to stop. My parents had been killed in the darkness of the Boston night by men very similar to the ones we had just dealt with. What if there were more? What if they were the ones that killed my parents? Until I had answers, I didn't want to be alone, at least not outside.

I turned and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Connor still standing by the street lamp, calmly smoking a cigarette and gazing up at the night sky. "Connor?" I called out softly.

"Yeah?" His eyes held nothing but calmness, which immediately eased my nerves.

"Do you mind… walking back with me?" I was almost too shy to ask him. "I'm just not all that right from what happened with my parents, and I would feel better if I had someone to walk with."

"I don't mind at all," he said smoothly. When his arm came to rest at my hip once more, I felt completely and utterly safe. It was as if the Good Lord Himself had sent one of his Holy Saints to protect me.

* * *

Like a true gentleman, Connor walked me to the front door of my parents' house and bent down to kiss the back of my hand before I walked inside. When he noticed the tattoo on my inner left forearm – the words "Forever a child of God" with a Celtic cross underneath – he bent down and kissed that as well.

Once I was safely inside with the door locked and I had showered and changed into my favorite pajamas, I curled up in my parents' bed and just let loose. I cried because I had lost them. I cried because I had no one to look after me.

I cried because I was alone.

Aside from my arm wrestling matches in college, I'd never been a particularly social person. Ellie, my one close friend from my early childhood all the way up through college, had started med school in Worcester and now barely had the time to even email me.

I'd also never been an active member of the dating pool. My last and only boyfriend had been Roy, the boy I went to my junior prom with as a pity date when his crush turned him down. I knew how to flirt as it had gotten me into some of the best and most money-earning arm wrestling matches, but I had definitely not had anything long term. Whatever was happening between Connor and me was _not_ going to last.

Or maybe it would. I was going to see him the next day. Maybe, just maybe, I would able to turn my life in a decent direction.

Instead of sitting around and sulking, I could be out in the world, spreading my angel wings just like my daddy had told me to do.

And that's exactly what I was going to do.


	3. The Rising

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 3**: The Rising

The next morning, I awoke from a pleasant dream – I never remember my dreams, so don't expect any details – and dressed under the light of the morning sunshine spilling in from my mom's favorite white lace curtains. I decided, in honor of my late parents, to wear items that were once theirs along with some of my own. I wore my mom's favorite sweater – dark purple v-neck that had hugged her curves perfectly but was comfortably loose on me – and my father's old leather jacket over my favorite jeans.

As I made my way out into the streets, I began to feel a little vulnerable. Last night, Connor had walked me home, so I hadn't been alone then. Now, it was obvious. Before my parents' death, I had been the biggest daredevil you'd ever meet, never thinking twice about roaming the streets of South Boston despite my mom's constant warnings. Now, without either of them watching over me, I was entering a whole other world.

I tried to shake those thoughts from my head and concentrate more on where I was going. It was beyond early (it was only 7 a.m. at the very latest) but I needed a good walk in the cold to clear my head. I was intentionally walking slowly, letting the mid-March chill keep my head on straight.

At around 8:30, I found myself only a handful of blocks away from McGuinty's. That's when my mom's warnings came back to me much too late.

One second, I had bent down to retie my bootlace after snagging it in a bush. The next, the morning sunshine was robbed from my eyes by a filthy, drug-stained bag being forced over my head.

"What the fuck!" I screamed, more out of surprise than fear at the first moment. When I was subsequently shoved to the ground by two pairs of too-strong arms and met with a heavy handgun between my small breasts, the reality of my predicament began to dawn on me. I was lying on the ground by the fault of two unknown assailants, and I was probably going to be killed, raped, mugged, or some combination of the three.

"One more sound, and it will be your last," a heavy Russian voice said. I recognized it immediately as that of Checkov from the night before. If this was Checkov coming after me, Connor and Murphy would probably end up involved one way or another, maybe even Rocco as well.

With the desire to stop gambling with my life, I shut the fuck up and cooperated as the two Russians pulled me back to my feet and forced me to walk. Whatever was going to happen, I prayed to God that Connor wasn't awake yet to witness whatever was going to happen to me.

After what seemed like a eternity of walking and stair climbing and being shoved around like a worthless whore, the crashing of a door and Checkov's scream of, "Freeze, you fucking Irish faggots!" led me to believe that they had just barged into the sanctity of Connor and Murphy's living space. "You're gonna watch this, you little slut!" Checkov snarled in my ear. He yanked the bag from my head just in time for me to see Connor knocked to the ground and handcuffed to the toilet while Murphy was shoved roughly next to me. Immediately, and clearly out of instinct, his arms wrapped around me, just like a big brother protecting his baby sister.

Then, Connor got a real look at me. "No!" he screamed out of pure, unholy agony. "Gracie, no!"

"Connor, just be quiet," I said, forcing myself to stay calm. It was then that I was cruelly ripped from Murphy's arms and shoved against the wall. Checkov was right in my face while his accomplice held his gun to Murphy's head.

"Get your fuckin' hands off her!" Connor and Murphy screamed at the same time.

"Both of you, shut up!" I fired back. "That's _not_ going to help anything!"

"Smart girl," Checkov snarled. "You know what I do with smart girls?" My breath was stuck in my throat as the barrel of his gun was pivoted right over the bridge of my nose, forcing me to go cross-eyed. The flaring of my nostrils as I continued to breathe were the only movements I made. I had been in my fair share of fights, and I knew how to keep an attacker at bay. "Nah," Checkov decided. "I deal with your fucking Irishman first. I got other plans for you."

I doubled forward and dry-heaved violently as Checkov landed a punch right in my stomach. I fell to the floor, unable to breathe for twenty long, horrifying seconds.

"You know why I fucking come here?" Checkov was now leaning over Connor, who still managed to keep his gaze on me and his mouth shut. "I come here to _kill_ you. But now, I don't think I fucking kill you. I kill… your brother, and your precious little bitch. Shoot them in the head."

"No!" I tried to scream as Checkov came to drag me up from the floor. I managed to steal a lucky moment and duck under his legs, make my way over to Connor, clasp his face in my shaking hands, and kiss the fresh and very bloody wound on his forehead. "It'll be alright! I promise we'll be alright!" That was all I had time to say before I was dragged from the apartment with Murphy by my side, forced to leave Connor behind to scream our names in agony.

They were taking us to the alley – what a perfect place for a grisly execution. Along the way, I managed to clasp Murphy's bloodied hand. We never met eyes, but we both received the message. We were going to our death like a brother and sister.

I hissed a little as I felt the biting pain of Murphy digging his thumbnail into the back of my hand. I looked down to see that the scratches formed a crude but very clear cross. With a tiny sob, I scratched the same mark into his hand as well. Our eyes finally met, and I silently begged for the Lord to watch over us.

Murphy was dropped to his knees next to the filthiest of dumpsters, and I soon joined him. We were too far apart (and I was too afraid) to attempt to even glance at each other again. "I hope your conscience is clear, Irishman." I heard the cocking of Checkov's gun, and I knew that it was hovering somewhere very near Murphy's head. I knew it would be mere seconds before the fateful shot rang out and his blood sprayed onto me.

Only the shot did not come. There was a crash instead.

I had clamped my eyes shut to rattle off my last confession, so I didn't see what happened until Checkov doubled over dead under a shower of shattered porcelain. I ducked away just in time for Connor to land on top of Checkov's accomplice and then come to a stop on a pile of trash bags. My ears rang a little from the two instinct-driven gunshots, but I got up immediately, not wanting to lose myself in shock.

"Get him, Grace!" Murphy shouted at me, jabbing a finger in the direction of Checkov's barely-alive accomplice. Without a second thought, I grabbed the gun that was lying at his side and pressed it deep into his spine.

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ I spoke the words of an ancient story I had stumbled across in a secondhand bookstore when I was twelve. I had never thought much of them until precisely that moment, but I knew they were beyond fitting for the situation I was in.

While Murphy got busy looting the Russians' bodies - particularly their guns, valuables, and any identification – I rushed over to Connor. My shaking fingers confirmed that he did indeed still carry a steady pulse; he had simply fallen unconscious after his leap from the roof. I let out a long, withering sigh as I got a close look at the bloody cuff wounds on his hands and the still-dripping wound on his forehead. I knew full well that it was more important that he was alive.

"Get the fuck up!" Murphy shouted at me. "We need to go!"

"I'm sorry!" I pleaded. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just fucking carry this while I carry Connor!" he directed, handing me the bag with the stuff he had looted from the bodies. "We need to get him to a hospital! Now!"

With considerable difficulty, I helped Murphy hoist his unconscious brother onto his shoulder. As fast as fucking possible, we made our way toward the nearest medical facility, thanking the Good Lord above for allowing us to just barely dance around death that morning.

Maybe about half an hour later, Connor was lying comfortably on a safe, clean hospital bed. His wounds had been cleaned, and the ones on his wrists bandaged, and he was sleeping peacefully for the time being. While Murphy was down the hall getting a few scrapes of his own taken care of, I stayed behind to watch over Connor. I knew full well that he was no longer in danger and would soon be pain-free, but something kept me glued to his side like a worried wife.

My hand was tucked loosely in his when he woke up. I had been looking away when he woke, and it was only from his tightening grip that it was confirmed to me.

"Hi," I said stupidly as I smiled at him. "How do you feel?"

"Forget about me," he insisted as I helped him sit up. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I said plainly. It was one of the biggest lies I'd ever told in my life.

In just five words (six if you count my name), Connor had me completely figured out. "You're a pretty shitty liar, Grace."

"Well, excuse me if Murphy and I almost had our heads blown off while you were just left behind to wait!" My voice had gone from peaceful to downright bitter, and I ripped my hand from his. After less than a day, I already knew how colorful his language was, but I was still unhappy with his jab.

"Relax, relax," Connor insisted, pulling me into a gentle, comforting embrace. "I'm glad we all made it in one piece."

"Me, too," I said with a calm sigh, holding onto Connor just a little longer than necessary.

"Alright, what did I fuckin' tell you two last night?" Murphy's brotherly joking was an instant comfort to my ears as he strode down the hallway to meet up with us. "Do I have to watch this every day now?"

"Shut your fucking trap, Murph," I spat out, making sure to keep my voice down to avoid startling a few nuns sitting nearby with the foulness of my tongue.

"You're just pissed 'cause Connor ruined our little arm wrestle last night," Murphy challenged, giving me a playful shove.

"Then I demand a rematch," I said with a much harder shove.

"Alright, _children_," Connor teased. "Settle down, now." With a tired sigh, I decided to sit next to Connor on his bed.

When I looked back down the hall, Doc was speeding towards us. The boys must have called him in.

"Thanks for coming, Doc," Murphy said as Connor swung down off of his bed. I tried to offer help, but he was fully capable of doing it himself.

"J-Jesus Christ!" Doc gasped when he got a look at the brother's tattered bathrobes and still slightly bloody wounds. "What the fuck happened? A-Are you b-b-boys alright?"

"We're alive," Connor said gratefully, having an arm each around Murphy and me.

"An FBI agent came by the bar," Doc continued. "And he left me his c-c-c… he left me his c-c-c, oh, he fucking gave me this!" He stuttered as he yanked a white business card from his coat pocket. "FUCK! ASS!"

"What're you gonna do?" Doc asked once his outburst had calmed down.

"We've gotta turn ourselves in," said Connor.

"Yeah, we'll just tell him it was self defense," I said.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what he said," said Doc.

"How the fuck's he know that? We haven't spoken to anyone yet." Hot-headed Murphy was clearly not pleased.

"I d-don't know," said Doc. "He d-d-didn't say."

"Alright," Murphy sighed. "Listen, Doc, we need you to do us a favor."

"A-a-anything," Doc said loyally.

"Just hold onto this for us," said Connor, handing over the bag with the Russians' loot. "We're gonna come back for it when we get out."

"Right!" Doc said loudly just before shouting his famous, "FUCK! ASS!" and making his way out the door.

"Shit," Murphy muttered, crumpling the card in his fist.

"I don't want to," I said, not caring that I sounded like a whiny little brat.

"You don't even have to," said Connor. "We can cover for you."

"Yeah, right," I scoffed. "I was involved, so it's probably better for all of us."

"Are ya sure?" Connor looked me straight in the eye.

"Do I _look_ like I'm backing down?" I gave him my deathiest of death glares until he finally cracked a smile.

"Well, ya haven't let us down yet," Murphy chimed in, giving me a sturdy pat on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get ourselves down to the station and get this shit off our shoulders."

"Here, let me help you," I said as I took one of Connor's arms and swung it up and over my shoulder. "You shouldn't be supporting your own weight too much for the time being."

"I've got his other side," Murphy confirmed as he did the same.

"Where would I be without you two?" Connor wondered aloud as Murphy and I led him out of the hospital. I decided not to play the nitpicky card and remind him that he needed at least a few more hours of rest. These boys were way too stubborn.

As soon as we got to the police station, we made our way quickly inside. I waved the agent's card (which bore the title Special Agent Paul Smecker) every time someone started to look suspicious, and we were waved quickly through.

Finally, we reached the room we needed. "So the only thing we can do," an agent spoke, "is put a potato on a string and drag it through South Boston; thanks for coming out!"

"You'd probably have better luck with a beer," Murphy said, trying to lighten the silence that had struck pretty much the entire station.

"Yeah, you would," I added. It was then that the best-dressed man in the room, obviously Agent Smecker, approached me.

"You," he said bluntly. "Come with me."


	4. The Mission

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter Four**: The Mission

"What the hell?" I struggled a bit as Smecker gently untangled me from Connor.

"Quick acting like I'm kidnapping you," Smecker said bluntly. "You're not in trouble. I just need to ask a few questions."

As I was led away, I threw a quick glance back at Connor, my glance silently asking, _What the fuck is going on_? His answer was as good as mine.

I was brought into the interrogation room and sat down across the table from Smecker. "This conversation is going to be recorded," he warned me before turning on the tape recorder in front of him.

"Just get it over with," I said bitterly. "What do you need?"

"I need to talk about the incident with your parents," Smecker said calmly, and almost kindly.

"I went through this yesterday," I said. "I'd rather discuss what just brought Connor and Murphy and me in here."

"Both cases are mob related, and both are of equal importance to me," Smecker said. Finally, I gave up and decided to play nice. My parents had always raised me to never trust cops, and this one was not yet an exception.

"Alright," I said calmly. "Go on."

"We found a few things in your parents' possession that might be of interest to you," said Smecker. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out three different evidence bags. One held an opened letter, another held my father's wedding band, and the last held a locket I had given my mom for hers and my daddy's 25th wedding anniversary just a few months ago.

"This isn't right," I muttered immediately. "How the hell did you get these?" My sharp tongue and iffy attitude were completely wiped away.

"They were found on your father's body," said Smecker, probably making every effort to be patient with me.

"My parents were looted before being burned in a dumpster," I recalled, trying to piece things together. "The locket and the ring would have been taken and the letter would have been burned to ashes."

"They weren't burned in a dumpster," said Smecker.

"Yes, yes, they were," I insisted. "That's what the police told me yesterday morning."

"Two bodies were found burned to ash in a dumpster," Smecker began. "There were no personal effects, save for two wallets which held your parents' ID's. That was enough to convince the boneheads at the Boston PD that your parents were the victims. Then, almost immediately after you were informed by the police the next morning, another body surfaced. This one was completely intact except for a single gunshot to the head. It was positively identified as that of Owen Charles Reilly."

"My daddy," I whispered with a sad nod. "So… what happened to my mother?" If it was true that my parents weren't the victims in question and only my father's body had been found, maybe my mother was still alive. And I was _not_ going to wait for answers.

"I don't know," Smecker admitted sadly. "I wish I could tell you more, but I really can't."

"What about the letter?" I asked. "It's opened, so someone must have read it. Who's it from? What did they say?" I should have just broken down completely, but I was so thoroughly confused that I simply couldn't.

"I haven't read it," Smecker said, sliding the evidence bags across the table to me. "It was passed on to me by another agent. We're done here now; I think your Irish friends need this room."

"Th… thank you," I said weakly, standing on shaky legs and making my way to the door. I managed to get myself down an empty-looking hallway before I withdrew the letter from its envelope and held it close to read. I didn't want to believe it, but the handwriting was the unmistakable cursive-block combination of Anne Marie Reilly, my beloved mother.

_My dearest sweet Gracie,_

_I know what you're thinking right now. You're confused, and I understand. I know about the bodies, and I know what happened to your father. Find a sturdy spot to sit, because you will probably collapse when you are finished reading this._

_As far as I can tell you right now, and I don't know when this letter will reach you (if at all), I am alive. Your father, however, is in the hands of the Good Lord now. As I write this, I am thinking back to when I saw the trigger pulled. He was murdered by a Russian Mafioso named Yuri Petrova and four of his filthy henchmen. They recognized Owen as a long-lost accomplice of a rival of theirs, and they decided to do away with him right then and there, as we were walking home from a hard day's work to put food on the table for our beloved daughter._

_My dear Gracie, please get yourself somewhere safe. I am hiding and cannot reveal my location even to you, but I know that Petrova and his men will be after you soon enough. Get yourself out of the house and preferably out of the city if possible. I don't care how – just do it! I don't know if I will even be alive when this letter reaches you, or even if I still have a daughter on this Earth._

_If we are both alive, then the Good Lord will bring us back together. If not, then we will meet again in Heaven._

_With all my love and prayers,_

_Mom_

What am I supposed to say here? That I cried my fucking eyes out? That I felt my heart wrenched from my chest? Something cliché like that?

No. I didn't even have time to think before I slid to the floor, tears cascading from my eyes like the world was about to end. "Mommy," I cried out to no one in particular. Was she still alive? Was she dead in an alley somewhere?

I didn't fucking know.

I really didn't fucking know.

Out of nowhere, I heard it. It was my secret prayer, my oath of honor… my life's mission.

"_And so the Angel came down, _

_and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. _

_And from that moment on, _

_she was the Angel of Death."_

It repeated, over and over and over again, echoing in different volumes, even different languages. It was my calling.

"Whosoever sheds the blood of Man, by Man shall his blood be shed." The words flowed forth from my mouth as if from a river.

I now knew what I had to do.

I get out there, find Petrova, and spread my wings as the Angel of Death. It may not have been the kind of angel my daddy wanted me to be, but it was good enough for me. After what had happened to me, I needed something to give my life purpose. I needed a duty to perform and someone, namely the Good Lord Himself, to perform it for.

"_And the Saints will have above them _

_a Guardian, a watchful Angel_

_who will never allow the cruelty of death to _

_halt their God-given duty."_

I was the Angel of Death.

And I was also a guardian angel for the Saints, whoever they turned out to be. I had to find them and tell them what I had discovered.

I stayed in that gosh-darn hallway for what must have been the entire friggin' day. Finally, an agent found me and told me to go home since it was getting late, but I wouldn't have any of his crap.

"I need to see the MacManus brothers," I said firmly. At the moment, I didn't know why I needed to see them so badly; I just needed to see them… badly.

"They're staying in a holding cell for the night," the agent explained.

"Have they been arrested?" I asked.

"Well, no, so I guess you can see them whenever," said the agent, sounding ever-so-slightly flustered. Clearly, holding cells were not typically loaned out to non-criminals. "Here, I'll bring you down there." He kindly offered his arm and helped me to my feet before escorting me to Connor and Murphy's cell. I felt a flood of relief when I finally laid eyes on the lean, muscular builds and charming faces of my two new Irish brothers.

"Hey, Grace," Murphy greeted me from where he lay on his crappy jail cell bed. At the moment, it was probably a hell of a lot nicer than their trashed apartment. "Should I leave you alone with your fuckin' Prince Charming?"

Connor was about to shoot off a probably nasty comeback, but I was too quick for him. "Not now, Murph," I said. "This is important."

"Yeah, what's up?" Connor moved to sit next to Murphy while I sat between the two.

"How'd it go with Smecker?" Murphy asked.

"Well, where do I start?" I wondered aloud. I noticed the brothers' simply wooden rosaries hanging from their necks, and I took one gently in each hand. "First of all, remember how I told you about how my parents died?" Both brothers nodded. Connor must have relayed the story to Murphy, since I had never directly told Murphy about it. I continued, "Well, what the police told me was fucking bullshit. Their bodies were not burned in a fucking dumpster."

"What happened to them, then?" Connor coaxed gently.

"My daddy was killed with just a shot in the head and my mom is hiding somewhere now," I said, fighting to keep my voice calm despite the gnawing urge to cry again. "She might even be dead."

"What the fuck?" Murphy's anger had risen again. "Do they know who killed him?"

"Yuri Petrova." The name flowed off my tongue like I had worn it down over years of suppressed disgust. It didn't sound like a name. It was the sound of fingernails on the broken chalkboard that was my patience.

"I'm sure the police will be on full force with that," said Connor.

"And, by the way, when we talked to Smecker, we told him your side of the story as well, and he was fine with it," Murphy reassured me.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Connor said, cupping my chin in his hand and looking me straight in the eye. "We'll do whatever we can to wipe that bastard Petrova off the face of the Earth."

"Thanks, guys," I said in a tired voice. "I just can't stand my life crumbling even more than it already has."

"We're here for ya, Grace," Murphy said, pulling me closer and tucking my head into the crook of his neck. "We're watchin' over ya."

Little did they know that it was _me_ who would be watching over _them_.

It must have been well into the night when it happened. I had fallen asleep in the corner of the cell, since an agent had never come to finally send me home and honestly, I couldn't have cared less. Mom had said not to go home, and not going home was exactly what I was going to do.

It was well past midnight when a thunderstorm struck. Growing up in New England, I was more than accustomed to thunderstorms, but very rarely in March. As I got up to look out the window, I noticed the brothers lurching almost violently in their sleep.

Then, the heavenly voice returned.

"_Whosoever sheds man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed. For in the Image of God, made He man."_

I turned from the window to see Connor and Murphy, yanked upright in their beds by the invisible hand of God Himself, gasping in shock as water dripped from the ceiling above them. It was now my time to step in.

"_And the Saints will have above them a Guardian, a watchful Angel who will never allow the cruelty of death to halt their God-given duty."_ I stood over them, and with a hand hovered over each man's head, I recited my own Holy Mission.

"_Destroy all that which is evil._" Connor's voice came in shot, quiet gasps.

"_So that which is good may flourish._" Murphy continued the command.

"_And the Guardian shall forever watch over you,_" I finished. "My holy Saints."

"We're going to kill your father's murderer if it's the last thing we do," Connor declared. He and Murphy collapsed back into bed out of exhaustion, with Connor pulling me down next to him. He held me against his chest, his pounding heartbeat very audible in my ears. "I need you with me tonight, Grace. I need my guardian angel."

Only a little more than a day ago, I was just a girl he met in a bar. Now, I had a duty. I had to protect him as he carried out his God-given mission. I had to protect his strength and his beauty.

I had to protect what I would very soon grow to love.

I don't know exactly, but when he kissed me on the forehead that night, I think that was the moment when I did indeed fall in love with Connor MacManus.


	5. The Call of the Saints

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 5**: The Call of the Saints

I left the police station early the next morning to tie up some loose ends at home before meeting back up with the boys. Yes, I defied my mother's possibly last wishes by going back home, but it was still in the condition I left it in, so I saw no problem.

I knew I wasn't going to be back for at least several days, so I got to work assembling things into three categories: personal items of my parents that I would keep with me no matter what, any clothing that was comfortable and could be carried, and things that would just be left in the house.

I took my daddy's wedding band and put it on a chain around my neck, the same chain that held the locket. I also packed a small duffel bag with my clothes, a few precious photographs, both my parents' rosaries, and my Bible.

Once I was as packed as I was willing to be, I went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of my daddy's favorite red wine. Ever since I turned twenty-one, he had gotten me into some really nice wines. A few times a month, he would take me to wine tastings, and once he even took me on a spur-of-the-moment Australian wine tour. Now that he was apparently a mob accomplice according to Mom's letter, I now saw how he could afford all of it.

A knock at the front door startled me out of my reminiscing. It was a polite knock, so I figured I should put on my polite face and answer it. To my surprise, my favorite Irishman stood on the threshold.

"Connor," I sighed with a smile. "What brings you up here? This ain't really your area of Boston."

"Neither is the fuckin' Copley Plaza Hotel where our first job is tonight," Connor said, playing along with my jab.

"Well, come in, of course," I said warmly, stepping aside so he could get out of the cold. As I shut the door, I noticed him staring in awe at just about every part of the house.

"Whoa," he said in amazement. "This is one of the nicest places I've ever seen."

"I guess so," I said, taking another sip of wine before pouring another glass and handing it to Connor. "I've lived here most of my life, so I'm pretty much used to it."

"You're spoiling me, Grace," Connor said as he took a sip of wine and gave a tiny moan of delight.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," I said as I corked the bottle and put it away. Then, I took on a more serious tone. "That's a pretty serious message we got last night."

"Aye," Connor said, downing another sip. My mom's elegant wine glass looked completely out of place in his of all hands, but I thought it was cute. "We kill every last motherfucker out there and leave the innocents alive and well."

"And I watch over you and ensure that you remain alive to continue on with your calling," I said. I had finished the last of my wine and was now staring aimlessly at Connor's left hand. Something was inked along his index finger to the start of his thumb, but I couldn't quite make it out. Finally, I slid my hand up into his and pulled it a little closer to my face.

"Veritas," I read. "My noble Irishman knows his Latin."

"And my sweet little angel knows her path in life," said Connor. He had rolled up my left sleeve to expose my own tattoo. Just as I was curling my left hand into his right, he gently cleared his throat and stopped me. "Grace, we really should go."

"I guess," I said with disappointment as I rinsed and dried our empty glasses. "Where are we off to?"

"Arms dealer," said Connor. "Obviously, we need proper weapons for what we're about to face."

"Yeah, all I've got is my daddy's fat-ass shotgun that hasn't been even cleaned in twenty years." To my surprise, Connor picked my daddy's leather jacket up from where I had thrown it on the kitchen counter and slipped it onto my shoulders for me.

"Thanks," I said genuinely.

"We've got a long day and an even longer night ahead of us, my dear," said Connor. "Now, let's go." With that, I grabbed my duffel bag, linked arms with Connor, and left behind the house of my childhood.

* * *

Later that afternoon, we piled into Rocco's car (he had let us borrow it for the day) and drove back into the brothers' neighborhood to meet with a well-known underground arms dealer. His house was a fairly normal Irish loft house, but the basement was a whole other story. Once we had piled the Russians' guns, cash, and valuables onto the table in front of us (along with a single large gold bar that my daddy had kept locked away for dire circumstances), we were given free reign of the entire well-stocked basement.

"Now, don't you boys start drooling on me," I snickered, laughing at the boys' fascination at their possible arsenal. We were each given a small bag to grab whatever we wanted. "What the fuck?" I blurted out as I found Connor's lips at my neck. "You idiot," I scoffed in disbelief, playfully shoving him off of me with my most mischievous of smirks.

"Ya know, I haven't made a comment 'bout you two in quite some time," Murphy remarked as he grabbed several cases of spare ammunition and stuffed them in his bag. "Ya havin' a spat?"

"Maybe I've just chosen to fall in love with you instead," I decided to play along. My cheeks immediately flamed bright red as I realized what I had essentially just confessed. I looked over at Connor; his cheeks carried a slight flush, and he would only glance at me for a quick millisecond before quickly looking away.

"You little devil, you." Murphy yanked me into his arms, planted a rough but warming kiss on my cheek, and lightly pushed me straight into Connor's arms. He caught me with both hands around my waist and his lips positioned just perfectly for another neck kiss, which is exactly what I got.

"Alright, both of you need to shut your traps and focus," I insisted, enjoying both boys' antics but genuinely wanting to focus on preparing myself.

"Alright, Prince Charmin', let's do what the lady says," Murphy teased.

"Do you know what we need, man?" Connor suddenly had an idea. "Some rope."

"Absolutely," said Murphy. "What are ya, insane?"

"No, I ain't," Connor insisted as he continued to explore the various guns hanging from the walls. "Charlie Bronson's always got rope." I couldn't help but stifle a giggle at the absurdity of his idea.

"What?" Murphy was getting impatient.

"Yeah, he's got a lot of rope strapped around him in the movies, and they always end up using it," Connor continued.

"You've lost it, haven't you, sweetheart?" I decided to take over for Murphy for a little while.

"No, I'm serious." Connor would not back down. He stole a quick kiss on my cheek before continuing on his search.

"Me, too; that's stupid," said Murphy. "Name one thing you're gonna need a rope for!"

"You don't fuckin' know what you're gonna need it for. They just always need it," said Connor.

"What's this 'they' shit?" Murphy spat out.

"I hate to break it to you, darling, but this isn't a movie." I was beginning to side with Murphy. I mean, who the hell wanted to carry a heavy-ass rope around unless they knew they were going to use it?

"Oh, right," Connor said to me with a wink. He then lifted a large jagged knife out from Murphy's bag. "Is that right, Rambo?" he teased.

"Alright," Murphy gave in. "Get your stupid fuckin' rope."

"I'll get my stupid rope," said Connor, walking over to a wall where there were two bundles of heavy black rope hanging from a couple nails. "I'll get it. There's some rope right here."

"Alright, have we got everythin' we need?" Murphy asked, the three of us meeting in the middle. Aside from the rope and the Rambo knife, he and Connor had each picked up two Desert Eagles plus silencers and several boxes of spare ammunition.

"What's in the little lady's bag of tricks today?" Connor wondered, peering into my bag. My weapons of choice had been a pair of cute miniature versions of Murphy's knife. "What, nothing with a bang?"

"Darling, I'm more of a hand-to-hand 'get right up in your face' kind of fighter," I explained.

"Well, I did pick these out for ya," Connor said, reaching into his pockets and presenting me with a pair of flawless revolvers.

"They're beautiful," I murmured in amazement as I took one of the six-shooters and examined it from all angles. "I think I can make sure to use them."

"Don't get me wrong; knife fighting is pretty fuckin' sexy, too," Connor said, looping his arm around my waist as we zipped up our bags and made our way back out into the street.

"Connor, wait a minute," I said suddenly, stopping and pulling him to the side. "Murph, we'll meet up with you in a little while." Needing no further explanation, Murphy turned on his heel and continued on down the road. We had already discussed and planned out the entire mission, and the only thing left to do was get our asses over there and get it fucking done. We were going to take down Petrova at a meeting of his closest bosses and underbosses, right in the comfort and beauty of a Copley Plaza Hotel suite.

"Yeah, Grace, ya need somethin'?" Connor asked, sounding half concerned and half curious.

"Can I have a part in killing Petrova?" I asked bluntly. It was actually more of an 'I'm going to do it anyway and I don't care what you say' kind of question whose answer I didn't necessarily care for.

"Fuck yeah," Connor said, a flash of pride creating a twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips. "I want my lass out there doin' all that shit with us! Yer not the kinda girl I would ever dare to keep sheltered."

"I appreciate that, Connor," I said, glad that he was so comfortable with me. "And I have my own little flourish that I want to add, but my shot will come from across the room, straight through to his heart, so yours will still be perfectly undisturbed."

"Sounds like a fine idea," said Connor. "Now, was that all? 'Cause I don't think you'd be pulling me into an alley just for that." This drop-dead gorgeous Irishman sure had a knack for uncovering my secrets.

"No, that wasn't all," I admitted with a crack of a smile. "There's something I wanted to let you know."

"I'm listenin'," Connor assured me. He folded his hands behind his back and leaned against the wall, giving me his full attention.

"There's definitely something going on between us," I began. "I don't know how deep it will go or how long it will last, but I sure as hell know it's there." He gave a calm nod to show that he understood. "You saw how badly I blushed when I practically admitted that I've fallen in love with you. What can I say? I'm not used to feeling like this. I just wanted to get it out on the table before we really got ourselves fucked over."

Connor didn't speak for quite some time, as he was clearly deep in thought. "I've been wonderin' myself how I would tell ya," he said quietly. "Believe me, Gracie – my angel – I feel it, too." He had broken any last shreds of boundary between us by using both of my nicknames.

"I just don't want any ties until we know what we're doing," I said.

"I feel the same way," Connor said, reaching over to tickle my chin just enough to force a laugh from my lips.

"You're playing with hot water, Connor MacManus," I warned playfully with my trademark flirty threat.

"But I've already gotten meself burned," said Connor. "What's next?"

"Best to leave that little tidbit covered up for now," I said in response. "Now, I think Murph's going to start assuming shit if we don't get back to him soon."

"You're absolutely fuckin' right," said Connor, reaching over to hold my hand. "Shall we go?"

"Yes," I said with a satisfied sigh, squeezing our leather-gloved hands together. "Yes, we shall."

* * *

A few hours later, our travel consisting of both the T and walking, we arrived at the Copley Plaza Hotel just as the sun was beginning to set.

"Are we ready for this?" I asked as we touched base in the back alleyway near a service entrance. It was clearly marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY" but the dumb fucks never bothered to lock the damn door.

"Fuck yeah," Murphy announced as he reached into his duffel bag and passed out our matching black ski masks. We had cut the eye and mouth holes the night before, and with me being the girl, I had spent almost an hour tidying up the edges of mine with black embroidery thread.

"Now, Grace, I know I've asked you this a million times now, but are ya sure you're alright bein' alone for this?" Connor asked me. The main game plan was that the boys would take one elevator to the floor just beneath the room in question, climb through the air vents, and enter the suite through its main air duct. Me, I would take another lift to the correct floor, wait outside the door of the suite, and burst in as soon as I heard the first gunshots (even with silencers, they could still be heard to a reasonable extent). The boys would leave Petrova for last so we could all have our own part to play in his death.

"Yeah, I'm fine with it," I said. "And I don't mind at all. It just tells me that you boys are looking after me."

"Damn right we are!" Murphy declared, bending down to lift me off the ground by my waist and twirl me around in a few big, flamboyant circles.

"Alrigh', Murph, put the lady down," Connor insisted just as I started to feel dizzy. "Let's do this!" Together, we each made the Sign of the Cross before entering the service door.

It was a short walk down the hall to the first elevator, which was where I left the boys each with a kiss on the cheek and a firm order to stay safe. Once they were off, I continued down the hall to the elevator I needed and made my way up, the entire time feeling like the most powerful woman in the world. With Mom and Daddy's rosaries both tucked into my snug black tank top, I felt like I could do anything.

I exited the elevator and strode with purpose straight down to largest suite on the fifth floor. I took my position just outside the door, waiting with withering patience for the glorious sound of the Saints' gunshots to ring into my ears and signal my permission to enter. I was never one to enjoy waiting, but I forced myself to suck it up. My chance would come soon enough.

Soon, the ringing of gunshots came immediately after a crashing sound coming from the ceiling. Without a moment to spare, I whipped out the master key I had swiped from an unattended housekeeping cart near the service entrance and smoothly entered the room. What I saw didn't surprise me in the least.

Rather than the clean entrance we had planned, my Saints had simply crashed through the ceiling with Connor's 'stupid fucking rope' suspending them upside-down in midair. They spun around in a steady circle, each one with two guns drawn, picking out the eight men sitting along the outer ring of the suite's atrium. Then, I saw him.

Yuri Petrova.

My father's murderer.

The man who had made my dear Mom a widow.

The man who had ripped my quiet life right out from underneath my feet.

The man who would be my first kill.

"Guys, get the fuck down; I can't wait any longer!" I shouted to the boys, drawing one of my six-shooters and bringing it to Petrova's forehead. As the man dropped to his knees, I looked up at my two Irishmen. "Do either of you boys speak Russian?"

"Aye, we're fluent," said Murphy, he and Connor take their places behind Petrova.

"Translate this shit for me, would you?" I knelt down so I was at eye level with my victim. "Hello," I said plainly, just to get things started. "Do you know who I am?" Connor's lips moved in a smooth, fluidic motion as he replayed my words in Russian.

Petrova shook his head no. I continued, "My name is Grace Reilly." I paused to yank off my mask and coat so he could get a full look at me. "You put a gun to my daddy's head and took his life, from both myself and my dear mother. I can't stand for that, so I am going to kill you today." With that, I stood to my feet, backed up to the farthest side of the atrium, and took careful aim at Petrova's heart. Connor and Murphy were both standing rigid behind him, each one holding a gun to the back of his head.

"Go ahead, sweetheart," Connor said, nodding for me to do my part.

"_And so the Angel came down, _

_and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. _

_And from that moment on, _

_she was the Angel of Death."_

I spoke smoothly, fluidly, and very calmly. This was my moment, and I was enjoying every second of his. I wanted this man to suffer for what he had done to my family. I wanted him to see the face of the Angel of Death as she made him pay for his wretched sins.

The boys then recited their trusted family prayer, signaling to me that we were near the end.

"_And shepherds we shall be_

_For thee, my Lord, for thee_

_Power hath descended forth from Thy Hand_

_That our feet may swiftly carry out Thy Command_

_And we shall flow a River forth to Thee_

_And teeming with souls shall it ever be_

_In nomini Patri_

_Et Filii_

_Spiritus Sancti."_

Try as I did, I couldn't bear to watch the exact moment when the three shots ripped through Petrova's head and chest, those of Connor and Murphy bursting through his eyeballs and mine sitting itself smoothly in the man's black heart. Expertly aimed, the boys' shots were embedded in the wall at a comfortable distance on either side of me.

"Whoa," I gasped when it was all over. I tucked the revolver back into my belt, just a little overwhelmed over what we had just done.

"Are you alright?" Connor asked from across the room.

"I'm fucking fine," I said, spitting on the nearest body. I knelt down on the open floor while the boys got busy marking the bodies. They crossed each man's arms across his chest and placed pennies in his dead eyes. I clutched Mom and Daddy's rosaries in my tired fist, begging God's forgiveness for what I had just done.

"Sweetheart." I heard the most heavenly of whispers as my Irish love knelt down in front of me. "You've performed an amazin' act today, an' I couldn't be more proud of you." What he did next was both beautiful and utterly touching. He took my face gently in his hands and kissed my forehead, chin, right cheek, and left cheek in turn, making the Sign of the Cross on my skin with the soft and delicate beauty of his lips.

Finally, I knew that those beautiful lips needed to at last come in contact with my own.

When we kissed, I heard the Angels of Heaven itself, the unbroken purity of their voices ringing inside my head. My hands were clasping his face, his secured around my back, both of us holding the other close as we lit the flame of our heavenly bond.

"I've gotta say, you two are downright fuckin' beautiful," Murphy said once Connor and I had separated and helped each other to our feet. "How do ya feel, little sis?" Murphy asked me, reaching out to wipe a few stray blood spatters from my face and neck.

"I feel at peace," I said truthfully. "Petrova is dead, my daddy is avenged, and I've got you boys safe and sound at my side."

"I'm glad we could be of assistance to ya," Murphy said, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

"Well," Connor began as he stood under the massive hole in the ceiling. "'Name one thing you're gonna need this stupid fuckin' rope for!'" I laughed at his accurate imitation as he tugged the rest of the rope down from the air vent.

"Yeah, that was way easier than I thought," Murphy remarked.

"Aye," Connor agreed.

"You know, on TV, you've always got that guy that jumps over the sofa," said Murphy, finally playing along with Connor's movie inspirations.

"And then you've gotta shoot at him for ten fuckin' minutes, too," Connor added.

"Aye, we're good!" Murphy bragged.

"Yes, we are!" Connor agreed, looping his arm around my waist and bringing me to his side. The Saint and the Angel were now inseparable.


	6. The Saint's Protective Embrace

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 6**: The Saint's Protective Embrace

After a lovely little run-in with Rocco in the hotel suite, the four of us made our way back to Rocco's dump of an apartment to crash for the night and ultimately celebrate our victory.

"Anybody… _you_ think is evil?" Rocco confirmed. The boys and I were crowded on one side of the tiny kitchen table, cleaning our guns and explaining our new occupation.

"That's right," Connor and I answered in unison.

"Don't you think that's a little weird, a little psycho?" Rocco, being deeply rooted in the Italian Mafia, clearly was not yet sold on the idea.

"You know what I think is psycho, Roc?" Connor casually lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. His voice then took on pure seriousness. "It's decent men, with lovin' families. They go home every day after work; they turn on the news, and ya know what they see? They see rapists, and murderers, and child molesters. They're all getting' outta prison."

"Mafiosos," Murphy chimed in with a click of his empty Desert Eagle, "gettin' caught with twenty kilos, getting out on bail… same fuckin' day!" He snapped his fingers at the curse word to further heighten his emphasis.

"Fucking scumbags turning young children into orphans because their parents had the wrong connections," I added in. Almost as if to offer comfort, Rocco's girlfriend's cat was snuggled warmly in my lap, purring contently as I scratched his head.

"And everywhere, everyone thinks the same thing: someone should just go kill those motherfuckers," Connor explained. He took another drag of his cigarette before resting his arm around my waist.

"Kill 'em all," Murphy said fiercely. "Admit it: even you've thought about it."

"You guys should be in every major city," Rocco declared after a pause. "This is some heavy shit. This is like _Lone Ranger_ heavy, man." He paused to give me a quick once-over. "And it's just so goddamn badass that you've got a fuckin' lady taggin' along with ya!"

"Uh, minor correction there," I butted in. "I ain't just tagging along."

"That's right," said Murphy. "She's one of us."

"She got a pretty little bullet right into Petrova's fucking black heart," Connor said proudly.

"Fuck it!" Rocco suddenly exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table and standing up sharply. "There's so much shit that pisses me off!" After a few paces, he declared, "You guys should recruit… because I'm sick and fuckin' tired of walkin' down the street waitin' for one of these crack-pipin', ass-wipin', motherless lowlifes to get me!"

"Hallelujah, Jaffar," said Murphy, referring to the nametag on Rocco's hotel employee disguise.

"It's like you're not just talkin' about mob guys, right? You talkin' about pimps and drug dealers and all that shit, right?" Rocco seemed just a little too excited.

"Oh, yeah," Connor agreed.

"We take evil down where we find it, no matter the mask it wears," I said.

"Fuck!" Rocco exclaimed. "You guys could do this every goddamn day!"

"We're sorta like 7-11," said Murphy. "We're not always doin' business, but we're _always_ open."

"Mmm, that is nicely put," said Connor. We all sat in silence for a little while, each one of us simply taking the time to contemplate our new discoveries. Mine not only included an exciting and action-packed new career but also a gorgeous and totally badass Irish love.

"Ah, I need a fucking breather," I said after a while.

"Aye, I think I could use a bit o' fresh air as well," Connor chimed in, getting up from the table to join me.

"Don't you two go makin' out in the dark," Murphy teased.

"Shut it, Murph," I spat just before Connor and I walked out the door.

"Ah, that breeze feels nice," I sighed as I stretched my arms out and spun a few times in the street. Night had fallen, and my now-beloved South Boston was engulfed in pure darkness. How romantic.

"Aye, love, it does," Connor agreed, coming up behind me and hugging me around my waist. "Perfect fer spreadin' those angel wings o' yours."

"Blackened by my sins," I said, almost in shame.

"But beautified by your heavenly deeds," Connor said, repairing my quite negative view.

"You are one hell of a charmer, Connor," I said with a little giggle as his grip got tighter.

"Only for you, sweetheart." He bent down to kiss my neck. "Not one other livin' soul but you."

"How did I get so fucking lucky?" I wondered aloud.

"I have no fucking clue," Connor mumbled into my neck as he created a trail of kisses from my jawline to my shoulder. "I happen to believe that God Himself placed you in my grasp tonight."

"Not just tonight," I gently corrected him. "Every moment we've spent together."

"Aye, love," said Connor, nuzzling my neck with the stubble on his chin. "You're absolutely right." He then loosened his grip and turned to face me, still keeping his arms looped around me. "Now, why don't you give your precious Irishman another kiss?"

"You don't even have to ask," I said as I gently pulled him to my lips. We kissed gently, and much more carefully than our first, still needing to get used to the feel of each other's lips. Our arms looped loosely around each other, my hands tracing over the beautiful contours of his back while his gently held me at my waist.

"Oh, that feels so good," Connor whispered to me as we broke the kiss. We breathed against each other, still close and not intending to ruin the moment anytime soon.

I interlaced the fingers of our tattooed hands and kissed every point of connection, gazing up into his eyes the whole time. "God has placed me in your grasp tonight, and I am here to stay."

* * *

After a few more minutes of romantic peace, we rejoined Murphy and Rocco in the apartment, where the two were already getting shit-face drunk. We arrived just in time for Rocco to burst into a rant.

"Fuck it; I'm doing it. I deserve it. I've been workin' for those _fat bastards_ since I've been in high school. I mean, look at this fuckin' place! They're fuckin' me, man! They can _suck_ my pathetic little _dick_, and I'll dip my nuts in marinara sauce, just so those _fat bastards_ can get a taste of home while they're at it!"

Connor's and my bodies shook with suppressed laughter as we listened to our ranting friend. Out of pure exhaustion, I leaned forward and stretched my arms out across the table.

"Fuck it," said Rocco. "I'm doing it. It is… done!" I had no time to move before he slammed his fucking fists down on the table. To my horror, one of my arms became sandwiched between Rocco's fist and Murphy's loaded gun.

I gave a shriek of both pain and horror. Pain for the fucking burn that was now seared into my arm… horror for the sudden burst of cat blood that was now sprayed across the wall. He must have been standing right in the fucking line of fire.

Just as the shot rang out, I was yanked to my feet by both Connor and Murphy. I gave another shriek as Murphy's hand accidentally clamped on my fresh wound. "Fuck!" I screamed. "Fuck you, Rocco, you dumb-ass fucking _fuck_!"

"What the fuck!" Rocco shouted back.

"I can't believe that just fuckin' happened!" Murphy exclaimed, gesturing at both the wall and my seared arm.

"Is it dead?" Rocco wondered stupidly.

"Oh, my God!" Murphy cried out.

"You fucking asshole!" I screamed at Rocco. I tried to jump at him, but I was immediately restrained by both the brothers. "I'm gonna fucking kill you for this!"

"Alright, that's _enough_, Grace!" Connor shouted, slowly releasing his grip on me. "Now, instead of tryin' to start a fuckin' brawl, I suggest we get this shit taken care of!"

"Please," I whined, just beginning to cry from the pain. When I was finally brave enough to look, I discovered that a baseball-sized area about halfway between my wrist and elbow on my outer forearm was completely burned. Bloody red blistering had taken the place of my once-smooth skin.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's alright, darlin'," Connor cooed in my ear as he lifted me off my feet and carried me into the bedroom. "I'm here for ya, my darlin'." When he laid me down on the bed, he quickly ducked into the bathroom and brought out a basin of tap water and a few reasonably clean towels. "Now, just let me get this cleaned up for ya, ok? We don't need it gettin' infected."

"Of course," I said, nodding my consent. He dipped one of the towels in the water and ever-so-gently pressed it to the blistery, rotting flesh. As gentle as he was, I couldn't even attempt to stifle my resultant cries of pain. It stung like fucking hell.

"Darlin', I need to get this done," Connor insisted gently, pausing to brush a kiss onto my forehead. "Just let me finish, an' then I'm all yours." To distract myself from the pain, I began to imagine what 'all mine' would possibly involve. Due to my embarrassing inexperience, those thoughts would remain nothing more than shy fantasies for quite some time.

"There we go, my darlin'," he said once he had finished wrapping a makeshift towel-strip bandage around the mostly-cleaned mess. "All done."

"Thank you so much," I said weakly as I dropped my head onto his shoulder. He hoisted me comfortably into his lap and draped my legs across him.

"I'm all yours now," he whispered, kissing me delicately on my cheek. Without another word, I lightly brought my lips onto his neck. He sighed with pleasure as I continued, moving back and forth between his jaw down to his shoulder and back up. His sighs turned into gentle moans. "Darlin'," he murmured into my hair as I kissed the Virgin Mary tattoo just above his collarbone.

"I fucking hate scars," I muttered as I leaned back to look back at his calm, beautiful face.

"Aye, you'll have a pretty nasty one once that fuckin' mess heals," Connor said sadly. "But you're still beautiful in my eyes."

"Thanks, Connor," I said with a tiny smile, leaning into his arms again.

"Roc really didn't mean to hurt ya, sweetheart," said Connor.

"I know," I said, "but he really needs to be more fucking careful."

"Aye," said Connor. "I'll keep an eye on him for ya."

"And I thought _I_ was the guardian angel," I said with a laugh.

"Who says we can't just protect each other?" Connor suggested.

"We certainly can," I said. "I see no problem in it."

"Then, that's settled," Connor concluded. "Now, I suggest you get a wee bit o' shut-eye to help that wound o' yours start to heal."

"Sure thing," I said, lying back on the covers. "Good night, my Saint."

"Good night, my Angel." He bent down to give me the sweetest of kisses before leaving me to the warm realms of deep, sweet slumber.


	7. Tables Turned

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 7**: Tables Turned

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of three men arguing in the alleyway below me. "Fuck you guys," I muttered to myself as I saw Rocco and my beloved Irishmen, clearly tangled in a heated argument that even became physical a few times. Finally, Rocco stormed off into the street and Murphy made his way back inside, but Connor simply lit up a cigarette and stayed put.

"Is Connor alright?" I asked Murphy as soon as he was within reach.

"He's in a really pissy mood righ' now," Murphy said tightly. "Be warned if yer lookin' to go out there."

"Thanks for the heads-up," I said before making my way outside into the morning chill. "What happened?" I asked immediately when Connor was within earshot.

"What do you mean, 'what happened'?" Connor was pretending not to know what I was referring to.

"I mean what happened to make Rocco storm off like that?" I coaxed, unwilling to stop until I had answers.

Connor heaved a sharp sigh. "Well, you remember when we took out Petrova and his men."

"Darling, I'm not likely to forget it," I said as I leaned next to him on the wall. "What about it?"

"Do you remember the spat we had with Roc in the hotel room last night?" asked Connor.

"Not really," I admitted. "I was too high on pleasure from kissing you that I couldn't focus on much else."

Connor managed to crack a quick smile. "Well, when he got there, we realized that he'd been sent into a room with nine Russian fuckin' mobsters with only a fuckin' revolver."

"What the hell?" I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing. "Was it a setup?" Knowing Rocco's connections, I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone was trying to do him off.

"That's what we think, but he's refusin' to believe us," Connor sighed sharply. "What's worse is that he's startin' to take matters into his own hands."

"Why did he storm off like a little girl?" I asked.

"Goin' to take care o' two guys he thinks were involved," said Connor.

"And just last night we were discussing how he needs to be more fucking careful," I said with the slightest of laughs. "Is it really all that good of an idea for him to be involved with this? I mean, he didn't receive our Calling, and he already isn't taking things as seriously as we do."

"We're givin' him a chance," said Connor, "but believe me, Murph and I 'ave got the same worries on our minds."

"Are we doing another hit tonight?" I asked in a shy whisper.

"I hope not," Connor said. "We can't keep going every fuckin' day. We need a little time to relax in between."

"We're getting into some pretty deep shit here," I said. "Killing Petrova lifted a hundred pounds off my shoulders and finally let me live, but there's so much more I have to do… that _we_ have to do."

"God's mission for us may never be done," said Connor. "We may keep goin' until we fuckin' die."

"It'll be a cold day in Hell if I die with anything other than those beautiful six-shooters in my fists," I said proudly.

"Grace Reilly," Connor whispered. "I am more than proud to walk beside you in this crazy fuckin' life we've been thrown into."

"Connor MacManus," I whispered back. "I would choose this life of ours over any other life that the Good Lord could possibly give me."

Connor brought his hands up to my shirt, slowly unfastening one of the buttons.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, more curious than nervous.

"Just trust in me, my angel," he cooed as two more buttons came undone. He then reached under the folds of my shirt and, with just one finger, withdrew the ornate silver crucifix that was the centerpiece of my daddy's old onyx rosary.

With shy hands, I pulled down the top hem of his t-shirt. I felt the calming warmth of his skin as I brought out his much simpler rosary. I held the large wooden cross in my small palm and brought it shyly to my lips. He did the same with mine.

"You two are joined at the fuckin' hip!" Murphy's cheerful voice sounded from just outside the alleyway.

"Good God, Murph!" Connor sighed in annoyance while stifling a laugh.

"Do you need something, or are you just here to mess with us?" I was just beginning to lose my patience.

"Yeah, there was actually a call for you just a couple minutes ago," Murphy said, his voice low and careful, as if he were relaying a top secret message.

"What? How could anyone possibly fucking know that I'm here?" I was suddenly scared. "I'm under the radar. No one should know where I am!"

"Hey, calm down, sweetheart," Connor said, wrapping a protective arm around my waist. "Murph, did you catch anything 'bout the caller?"

"Yeah, it was a woman," said Murphy. "She didn't leave a number."

"What did she say?" I asked, my face buried in Connor's signature black coat.

"She said she needed to find you and that she was going to stop at nothing until she finally did." Murphy's voice was dead serious. "That's pretty much it."

"Oh, God," I groaned, grabbing Connor's lapels and pulling him closer. "Well, if she didn't leave a name or any other information, then she's definitely not the kind of person I want to be found by." I was forcing myself to take deep breaths to keep from breaking out into utter hysterics.

"We won't stay here much longer," said Murphy.

"Yeah, we'll leave today if that's what you want," said Connor, his arms wrapping gently around me.

"Hey, ya know what, Conn?" Murphy suddenly had an idea. "What if ya took Grace now and got her the hell away from here? Ya bring her to a better location and just come back here and bring the rest of us later. Think about it: if she's this woman's target, then we'd better get her out of here, and fuckin' quick!"

"I can do that," Connor agreed with a nod. "Grace, is that what you'd prefer?"

"Well, we still don't know what this woman's intentions are," I pointed out. "She might want to kill me, but she might just have some sort of news for me. Hell, for all I know, that could have been my mother!"

"Still, I think it would be best if we moved ya. If it was important, she would've left a name," Connor insisted, releasing me from his grasp. "Go on and pack yer things. We'll be here waitin' for ya."

A few minutes later, I was back in the street, with my bags in my hands and tears dripping from my eyes. "Don't cry, sweetheart," Connor whispered, wiping my tears away with his thumbs. "Murph and I will take good care of ya. Ya've got nothing to worry about."

"Thanks, Connor," I whispered gratefully, leaning in for a hug. I could feel him smiling against my hair as my head tucked against his shoulder.

"Alright, Romeo, we really need to go," Murphy insisted patiently.

As Connor and I got into Rocco's car, which he hadn't taken with him when he stormed off, Connor asked, "Is there anywhere you know of where I can take you?"

"I know a place," I said after taking a moment to get a hold of myself.

"Alright, just say the word and we're there," said Connor.

"My childhood friend Ellie gave me a key to her apartment since I used to go over there so much," I said. "She's in med school over in Worcester, but her parents still keep the apartment running and she lives there on the weekends."

"Alright, then," said Connor. "That sounds better than what I might have chosen." I decided not to ask.

Just under twenty minutes later, we arrived at Ellie's apartment. It was a weekday, so I would be there alone for at least a few days.

"You gonna be alright here for a little while?" Connor asked as I set my stuff down in Ellie's bedroom. I then went to sit on the couch in the living room.

"Not really," I admitted, "but someone has to get the car back to Rocco and Murphy."

"I'll stay if you want me to," Connor said, looking straight into my eyes.

"No, it's alright," I insisted. "Go get the others. You guys should stay here with me tonight."

"Are you sure?" Connor looked in disbelief around the apartment. While it didn't boast the kind of money my parents had had, it was still fairly clean and clearly designed for a woman.

"Yeah, of course," I said. "I just hope that blasted woman doesn't know Ellie and I are friends."

"Alright, I'll be back in a little while," Connor said, bending down to give me a quick peck on the lips.

"Don't get yourself into any more trouble while you're gone," I warned, only half-serious.

"I won't," Connor promised, blowing me a kiss at the doorway just before he left. Once I heard the car drive away, I got up and took a look around. The furnishings and decorations looked just the way they had when I was last here over three months ago, but something was off.

I moved into the kitchen and my first theory was proven true. There was expired food in the fridge and still-dirty dishes in the sink. It looked like no one had lived here in weeks. This wasn't right. Ellie was here _every_ weekend, without fail, and she _always_ picked up after herself.

My heart pounding, I ran for the phone in the living room and rattled off the number for Student Services at the med school. I had it memorized, since I had used it several times when Ellie was first starting there.

"Student Services, UMASS Worcester Medical School, how may I help you?" a kind voice asked on the other end.

"Hi, my name is Grace Reilly, and I'm wondering if you have a student there by the name of Elizabeth Lynn Eastwood," I said, trying not to sounds desperate. "She may be known as Ellie."

"Elizabeth Eastwood, Elizabeth Eastwood," the woman muttered, probably bringing up some sort of student roster and scanning through it. "Nope," she finally said. "No Elizabeth Eastwood. We have an Elizabeth East_man_, but no East_wood_."

"Alright," I said, sobs gathering in the back of my throat. "Thank you for your time." I hung up.

So where the hell was my friend? She had obviously quit med school, and she hadn't returned to her apartment in weeks. Something was wrong, and I didn't know what the fucking hell was happening.

I waited in silent agony on the couch, curled up in the fetal position, until I heard a knock at the door. The voices out in the hallway told me that Connor, Murphy, and Rocco had arrived. I decided on the short walk to the door that I wasn't going to reveal my concerns regarding Ellie. They already had enough on their plates with their new line of work and now this mystery caller that was after me. I didn't want to add anything else.

"Hey, guys," I greeted them warmly when I opened the door. I stepped aside for them to come in and led them into the living room. "Now, there's only one tiny bedroom here, so you guys will have to sleep in here."

I heard a snicker from Rocco, who was looking back and forth between Connor and me. My patience dwindling, especially from my concern for Ellie, I stormed up to him and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. "I'm already pissed at you for practically shooting me in the arm. Don't you fucking dare give me anything else to be pissed about if you want your body to be all in one piece."

"Whoa." Connor was clearly trying to stifle a laugh as he gently pulled me away from Rocco. "I think I believe her there, Roc. You'd best watch yourself around her."

"Aye, she's a fuckin' fierce one," Murphy added, giving me a cute little kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, this is going to be a long night," I remarked, loosening myself from Connor.

"Especially since we've got another job tonight," said Murphy. The four of us spread ourselves out between the couch and two recliners.

"What?" the idea struck me like an iron bar.

"Yeah, we stumbled across where we can find Vincenzo Lappazo, and we're not passin' up the opportunity," Connor explained. My breath caught in my throat. Lapazzo was the right-hand man of Giuseppi "Pappa Joe" Yakavetta. Now it wasn't just the Russian Mafia we were after. Now we were going after the fucking Italians as well.

"I'm fucking sold," I said boldly, drawing one of my six-shooters for emphasis.

"That's my girl!" Murphy, who had been sitting next to me, yanked me roughly onto his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist.

"You sure you're up for this?" Connor asked worriedly. "You've been through a lot today."

"Aww, come on, man!" Rocco stepped in for me. "This girl is fucking gold to us! Gotta be one of the toughest chicks I've ever seen in my life!"

"Yeah, let a lady have her fun once in a while," Murphy insisted. "She's one of us now."

"Well, alright," Connor finally gave in. He then chose to change the subject. "Now, how's that wound 'o yours, Grace?"

"I don't know," I said. "I haven't checked it since last night when you bandaged it." I shifted off of Murphy's lap and carefully undid the towel strip that Connor had used to cover the wound.

"Holy fuckin' shit!" Rocco exclaimed once the wound was exposed. "I fucking did _that_? Jesus fucking Christ!" It was clear as day that he genuinely felt sorry for what he had done.

The wound was a beautiful mess of red wrinkly blisters and dried blood. Despite its grisly appearance, it didn't show any signs of infection.

"If that's what it looks like now, I don't even wanna _imagine_ what it'd look like infected," Connor shuddered.

"Let me go get a new bandage for it," I said, getting up from the couch and fetching Ellie's first aid kit from one of the kitchen cabinet. Since she had been in med school, the kit weighed nearly thirty pounds and was stocked with just about anything a first aid kit could ever need. She had studied first aid on her own in high school and had taught me just about everything a person could need to know. Frequently, I would get into little spats after an arm wrestle, and I often ended up bandaging myself.

"Do ya need any help with that?" Connor asked kindly as I set the kit down on the coffee table and retrieved a tube of antibiotic ointment and a long roll of gauze.

"Yeah, if you could get me a wet towel from the kitchen, that would be great," I suggested. I was fully capable of getting it myself, but I knew Connor just wanted to help in any way he could. It was so touching that it made me want to cry with joy.

Once I had the wet towel, I used it to wipe off the dried blood before slathering the wound in ointment. "Gross," I muttered as Connor, without asking, took the gauze and began to wrap it around my arm.

"Ya ever gonna forgive me for that?" Rocco asked from across the room just before taking a drag from a cigarette. Ellie smoked, ironic since she wanted to be a doctor, so I figured it was perfectly fine to allow the boys to.

"Depends on how ugly the scar looks," I joked. "I admit, you didn't know what you were doing and you wouldn't have intended to hurt me, but you were pretty fucking drunk when it happened. _That_ I can't forgive."

"You definitely don't seem to get into drinkin' the same way we do," Murphy observed. Connor had just finished tying a knot in the bandage. "Aside from Saint Patty's Day, o' course." Both brothers' eyes went distant as they fondly remembered the night I met them.

"I'm more of an expensive wine type of girl," I explained. "Beer isn't really my edge, but I do enjoy a good one from time to time."

"What about shots?" Murphy asked with a knowing smile.

"Now, _that_ is a totally different matter," I said fondly. "I used to take three shots of Jack before every arm wrestle. It was one of my trademarks."

"Girl, there is _definitely_ more than meets the eye when you're concerned," Connor observed, shaking his head with an amused smile.

"Hot water, MacManus," I said playfully. "Hot water."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Just as a warning, my updates will definitely become more infrequent since I start school very soon. Also, please please please take the time to write a quick little review! I love them and it absolutely makes my day :)


	8. Angel's March, Angel's Love

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 8**: Angel's March, Angel's Love

9:30 p.m.

The Saints, the Angel, and the Sidekick were on their way to another mission. Lapazzi had a weekly Wednesday night, 10 p.m., visit to a porno parlor known as the Sin Bin. He was an evil, sick, twisted motherfucker… and we were _not_ going to stand for that.

9.50 p.m.

"Ten minutes," Murphy announced as we stopped the car just down the street from the flashy neon sign and tattered awning. He and Rocco immediately left to scope out our surroundings and check for anything suspicious.

"Ya nervous?" Connor asked me. I moved from my spot in the backseat to sit beside him on the passenger side.

"Not really," I said truthfully in a light voice. "I'm more worried about splattering blood on my clothes." I was dressed to the nines in true hit woman fashion. Underneath my daddy's jacket, I wore all black from my tank top to my jeans to my boots, double shoulder holster, belt, and wristbands.

"I'm not gonna lie, Grace; that's a downright sexy getup ya've got there," Connor said, passing me a devilish smirk that perfectly complimented the sparkle in his fierce blue eyes.

"It's just missing something," I said, opening the car door and stepping out into the night.

"And what's that?" Connor asked as he came up in front of me.

"These," I said as I retrieved the revolvers from my jacket pockets and tucked them into my shoulder holster.

"So, _so_ fuckin' badass," Connor said in awe as I tied my curls into a low bun.

"I try," I said. "And now for the final touch."

"Oh?" Connor was instantly curious. Without explanation, I clapped my hands onto his shoulders and invited him into a kiss. This time, there were no boundaries. No more 'getting used to each other'. This was our moment.

His arms snaked around my back, securing me against him to deepen the kiss. My hands traced all over his chest, with particular attention to his racing heart. I hadn't even kissed a man for years until I met Connor, and I was nowhere near used to it, but he ignited a passion in me that I had every intention to further explore.

It was nowhere near a makeout, but I enjoyed every second of it nonetheless, and I broke away with my heart swelling with pleasure.

"My Saint," I whispered, laying a hand over his now calmly beating heart.

"My Angel," he whispered back, gently caressing my face.

"I will always protect you," I promised him. At just that moment, my jacket slipped down to reveal my "Forever a Child of God" tattoo. I shivered as I remembered my Calling.

We spent a few more minutes in each other's arms, simply enjoying the pleasure of holding each other, before Connor was finally strong enough to break the connection. "Time to go," he whispered in my ear as he gently pulled away.

"Time to send a worthless motherfucker to his Judgment Day," I declared, quickly pressing a kiss to Connor's Veritas tattoo.

"Let's go show him what we're made of," Connor concluded, looping his arm around my waist as we walked down the street to catch up with Murphy and Rocco.

"That's him!" Rocco announced, pointing to a car that had just pulled up in front of the door. Sure enough, the fat bastard that was Lapazzi exited the car and made his way into the parlor.

"Let's do this shit!" I was ready, willing, armed, and goddamn fucking dangerous.

We made our way into the parlor and around to a back entrance in the dancers' dressing room, where we stopped to make any last-minute adjustments, particularly the addition of our masks. I gave a sigh of delight when I realized once again how truly badass and downright sexy Connor looked in his complete getup.

"Okay, Roc," Murphy began. He couldn't finish his sentence before he burst out in laughter. I understood perfectly, as my glance confirmed that Rocco had one of the shittiest, messiest ski masks I had ever seen in my life. Hell, he'd probably made it when he was drunk.

"What?" he clearly didn't understand our laughter. "You guys got masks."

"You look like Mush Mouth from _Fat Albert_," said Murphy.

"Fine! Fuck it!" Rocco ripped off his mask. "She can ID me. I don't care. I'm just tryin' to be professional, but _no_."

"No, it's fine," Connor insisted, still trying to stifle his laughter. "Now, shut the fuck up! You look good; put it on! You look fuckin' _scary_ in that!" With Connor, Murphy, and I still trying and failing to stifle our giggles, Rocco tugged his mask back on.

"Now, Roc." Connor was trying so hard to speak through his suppressed laughter. "Are ya sure that you're obee-kay-bee?"

"Shut up, you sexy Saint," I said. "And let's get this fucking show on the road!"

* * *

After the bursting of a door and the clattering of décor beads, we stood in the center of the parlor, with only a scared-shitless stripper to oppose us. She wore her hair in black spikes and was dressed in skimpy lingerie and a pink feather boa. One glance and I knew she did _not_ enjoy her job.

"Rocco, get the fuck off of her!" I demanded when he had the poor woman in a headlock with a gun to her temple. When he did finally let go, I holstered my gun and laid a gentle hand on the scared woman's trembling shoulder.

"Sweetheart," I began softly. "We're not here for you. We're here for a man that comes in here every fucking week to make you feel like trash. You'll never have to dance for him again after we're done here." When the dancer gave a shaky nod, I continued, "Alright, can you tell me which booth he's in?" The woman immediately pointed at the center booth. "We appreciate it," I said gratefully. "Center," I directed to Connor and Murphy.

"Alright, Grace, you stay with her while we get this jackass taken care of," Connor directed.

"No problem," I said, guiding the dancer back and keeping a firm grip on one of her arms, just in case she decided to run for help and expose us.

I looked up to the heavens as Connor and Murphy recited their time-honored family prayer. Connor pushed the button, and the door slid up, leaving only glass between us and the filthy motherfucker. I watched between their shoulders as Lapazzi's blood sprayed through the broken glass. Each shot sent a spark of life through my heart. One more scumbag to cross off from our seemingly-endless hit list.

When Lapazzi finally dropped dead to the floor and the dancer passed out, Connor and Murphy broke the remaining glass and jumped into the booth to complete their ritual, and I stepped back and leaned against the wall. Just as I was beginning to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, Connor screamed, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'll tip her!" Rocco blurted out. My quick-darting eyes had caught sight of his hand on the dancer's naked chest.

I gave a tired sigh once everything had calmed back down. Now that any witnesses had been taken care of, I threw off my coat and mask and let my hair out, exposing my true self.

"Aww, shit, Connor, you're fuckin' scoring with this one!" Rocco exclaimed once he got a real look at my well-trained body.

"Shut yer fuckin' trap, Roc," Connor warned lightly as he came to my side and kissed my cheek. "She's mine and you know it."

"What about you, Murph?" Rocco asked. "What's she to you?"

"She's my little sister," Murphy explained, kissing me on my other cheek.

"Little?" I shot him one of my famous death glares. "What am I – a child?" I reached out and pushed him a little.

"Well, since you're smaller than me, I think 'little' is an appropriate word," Murphy teased, pushing me back.

"You asshole," I said, realizing that Murphy's teasing was not going to end anytime soon.

"Kids, how many of these spats do I 'ave to break up?" Connor inquired, looking back and forth between Murphy and me with playful disbelief in his smile.

"Wait a minute," I said all of a sudden. There had been a quick little rustling sound, and I looked to see a few crisp Benjamins coming through the money slots of the other two booths. Connor and Murphy immediately ran to check them out.

"It's like a scumbag yard sale," Connor observed as he looked through the peephole.

"We should come here once a week and clean house," said Murphy. The two brothers got back into the center of the room and prepared their weapons.

"Oh, man, you gotta let me do these guys," Rocco begged. "I'm such a moron! I gotta make up for that tit thing!"

"No way, I've been waitin' for this asshole," Connor said.

"Aww, come on," Rocco pleaded.

"Come on, man, give the guy a shot," said Murphy.

"Fine," Connor said with a sigh, "but you only get one."

"What about the other one?" Murphy asked. Connor immediately walked up to me, got down on one knee in front of me, and presented me with his Desert Eagle. It was as if he were presenting an engagement ring and proposing marriage.

"Darlin', would you like the honor?" he asked while gazing up into my eyes.

"With fucking pleasure," I said eagerly as I took the gun from him.

"It's the real deal, Roc," Connor told him with utter seriousness as Murphy handed over his gun. "Evil man…" He turned to look at me. "Dead man." He bent down to kiss my tattoo.

"I won't let you down; I promise," I said firmly as I took my position.

"I have faith in you, darlin'," Connor told me. My lips moved quickly as I spoke my death greeting.

"_And so the Angel came down, _

_and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. _

_And from that moment on, _

_she was the Angel of Death."_

Connor and Murphy each hit a button, and then it all went down.

I shot at the booth on my left while Rocco took out the one on his right. I shot, shot, shot, with every ounce of anger and frustration and sheer holy strength that flooded through my body. Rocco's shooting was utter shit. Mine was better, but still not as precise as the boys'.

Finally, purely as a flourish, Rocco and I crossed guns and fired two rounds each into our opposite booths.

It was done.

Three fucking scumbags dead.

And I had been part of making it happen.

"Hey, hey, man, you guys gotta teach me that prayer," Rocco said as we exited the parlor. "That's some good shit, man."

"Save it, Roc, it's a family prayer," said Connor, who was clearly insulted. "My father's father before me, it's not just some shit."

"Hey, what about yours, Grace? Where'd that come from?" Rocco directed at me as we made our way back to the car.

"I received a calling telling me I was the Angel of Death," I explained. "I read those lines in a poem when I was a young girl, and I haven't forgotten them."

"It's goddamn fucking beautiful," said Rocco. We were in the car, just starting to drive off down the street.

"Alright, where are we headin' now?" Connor asked. He and I sat in the backseat, me with my legs stretched across his waist and one of my hands clasping his.

"I'm dying for a cup of coffee," I groaned, not having had any caffeine in days.

"I could go for one, too," Rocco added.

"Alright, sounds good," said Murphy, taking a left turn and in a few minutes bringing us to a stop right across from a tiny little 24-hour coffee shop.

"Alright, let's talk some business here," Rocco began once we were seated at a booth, each one of us holding a steaming cup of coffee. I took mine black with 3 spoonfuls of sugar. "I know a sick fuck, makes the ones we've been doin' look like altar boys."

"Go on," I coaxed in slight disbelief.

"Worst night of my life when I met this guy," Rocco continued, slipping into a painful memory. "Guy never says a fucking word to me. We're driving twenty-five minutes. Never a sigh, no throat clearing, nothing. His face… blank, man, just nothing there. This guy takes out a whole family - wife, kids, everyone - like he's ordering fucking pizza. I knew if I didn't keep it together, it was my ass. He has a poker game out back of his place with a bunch of wise guys every Saturday… worst day of my life, man."

"Well… I'm sold," Murphy said.

"Don't worry, Roc," said Connor. "We'll do this guy right and you'll feel a lot better."

"It'd mean the world to me," Rocco said sadly, but finally perking up a bit.

"Hey, it'll be alright," I said, reaching across the table and gently patting his hand. "And you know as sure as hell that I'll be there to help make it happen."

"Thanks, Grace," Rocco said, sending a friendly smile at me.

"With all pleasure, Roc," I said. I then looked over at Connor. He was smiling at me, but it was like no other smile he had ever given me before. It was beautiful, loving, and proud all at the same time. I looked over at Murphy, and his smile was strikingly similar. "What?"

"You've made such an impact on us, Grace," Murphy said, reaching over and smoothing my curls away from my face.

"You're givin' us more meanin' than we've ever felt before," said Connor.

"Do you have any idea where I'd be without you guys?" I chimed in.

"I'm guessin' probably nowhere nice," Connor said.

"I'd be sitting around in my parents' empty house, going nowhere in life with no friends, no hope for a boyfriend, and no idea what I wanted to do with myself," I said grimly. "You guys, for all intents and purposes, rescued me."

"The life we live is nothin' glamorous," Murphy pointed out.

"I don't give a damn," I said. "To me, life isn't about what you own or how much money you have or what kind of job you have. It's about who you share it with, who you love, and who loves you in return." Under the table, Connor slid his hand into mine and gave it a cute little squeeze. I knew exactly what he meant to say.

* * *

Later that night, we arrived back at Ellie's house to crash for the night. Rocco and Murphy fell asleep almost immediately on the couch and one of the recliners, while Connor came into Ellie's room with me.

"You can sleep in here tonight, if you want," I suggested once I had changed into an old tank top and pajama pants.

"Are ya sure?" Connor asked carefully.

"Yes," I said plainly as I sat next to him on the bed and crossed my legs, facing him from the side. "I trust you enough to hold me in your arms tonight." Connor looked up at me and smiled.

"I'll hold ya close to my heart," he said. "I'll never let ya go."

"I…" My voice trailed off. "I…"

"What is it?" he asked softly, reaching over and cupping my chin in his hand. "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

"I… somehow I just can't say it!" I blurted in frustration as tears began to blur my eyes.

"Then just listen for a bit," Connor said, taking my face in both hands now. "I know what we're both feelin'. It's burnin' inside me hotter than anythin' I've ever felt. It runs through me every time I close my eyes, and every time I get a look at that pretty face 'o yours."

"What are you saying, Connor?" I whispered my fateful question.

"I'm sayin' that… I love you, Grace."

His words…

They brought fresh tears to my eyes as I threw my gaze to the heavens.

They brought new joy to my heart after days of questions and pain.

They brought bravery into my next five words.

"I love you, too, Connor," I whispered back, my voice now completely smooth and cry-free. "That's what I was trying to say before. I was scared."

"You 'ave no need to be scared 'round me," Connor said, folding me gently into his arms. "I'm here to hold ya and protect ya… and love ya."

"Hold me tonight," I pleaded.

"I'll hold ya forever," he said. Everything went quiet as I slid my hands up Connor's shirt and gently tugged it off over his head. He had such a beautiful chest, the contours so perfect under my shy hands. Ever-so-gently, I pulled him down next to me on the bed. I ran my fingers over the smoothness of his skin, enjoying every crease and contour. He gave a pleased sigh and wrapped an arm tightly around me, securing me against his chest as we both grew tired.

"Someday, I'll give you all I can," I said calmly as I pulled his tattooed hand to my lips. "But, for now… this is perfect."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Just so everyone's aware, I actually do have the whole story written right now, and I post new chapters once they're edited, revised, and in some cases rewritten. So if you're waiting for an update, it _has_ been written and I'm just in the editing process.


	9. A Turn for the Worse

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 9**: A Turn for the Worse

I was high on love as we made our preparations the next morning. Connor snuck a kiss from me almost every chance he got.

"There they go again!" Murphy commented just about every time.

"Fucking Romeo and Juliet," Rocco added.

"Um, minor correction," I said. "I don't think either of us has any plans for dying anytime soon."

We were getting ready to take down the jackass serial killer that Rocco had told us of in the coffee shop. Somehow, this kill felt even more important to me than when we took out Petrova. Petrova had been for me. This guy was for Rocco, a friend through the rudeness and the accidental injury. Doing for others felt so much better than doing for myself.

We piled into a borrowed van and took off, our guns ready and eager in front of us and the burn of holy bloodlust running through my whole body.

As I stood just outside the door of the man's house - flanked by my friend, my brother, and my love - I said a silent prayer for strength. My six-shooters were clenched in my fists, eager to spill some blood.

The door opened and we burst in, met by probably a dozen men drinking and playing either poker or pool. As we pointed the eight guns we had between us, they stood there completely shocked, looking at death as it loomed over them.

"All of them." Rocco said the words and we opened fire. I shot whoever came in my line of sight, spilling their blood as casually as an accidental spill of water. A couple of them pulled out guns to try and fire back, but we mowed them down before they even had a chance. As they dropped like flies, I began to realize: this was the easiest fucking thing I'd ever done in my life.

Two of them dove under the pool table to try and get the drop on us, but Rocco was too quick. He got down to his knees and took them out with three shots each. They were the last ones.

As we took a moment to regroup and reload, Rocco began checking the bodies. "Shit! Shit!" he burst out. "He ain't here!"

"Aww, what the fuck you mean, he isn't here?" Murphy screamed back in frustration.

"I mean he ain't here!" Rocco insisted.

"Well, look again, for fuck's sake!" Connor shouted.

"I know what the fuck he looks like!" Rocco screamed.

"Roc, behind ya!" Murphy suddenly warned. Sure enough, the bathroom door opened behind Rocco and the last man stumbled out.

"Ah, son of a-" Rocco had managed to get a shot into the man's stomach, but the man still staggered out after him. "Oh, shit!" he screamed as the man began to chase him around the room. Having dropped his gun, he didn't immediately have anything to defend himself with, and from what I could see, he was fucking screwed. "Shoot this motherfucker!"

Murphy grabbed the man and yanked him away from Rocco, but Connor jumped in and broke his grip.

"No! Fuckin' let the boy go!" Connor insisted. "Let him go!" The man ran straight for Rocco, tackling him to the ground and beginning to strangle him.

"Now's your chance to earn your stripes, Roc!" Connor shouted in encouragement.

"He's gonna fuckin' get killed!" Murphy backfired, trying to run in and help him again.

"It was your idea to bring him in!" Connor pointed out, holding him back again. He then turned back to our friend. "Alright, Roc! Now's your moment! Ya take that man!" Right then, we noticed one of the other men beginning to get up from where he had fallen. "Gracie, go ahead and take him!" he insisted.

"We'll take him together, my love!" I called back as he and I jumped across the room. We let him get all the way to his knees before we shot him point-blank in the forehead. With a flourish, we flicked our wrists around to catch the bullet casings and made the Sign of the Cross with our clenched fists. Across the room, Murphy rolled a cue ball across the carpet to Rocco. Rocco knocked the man onto the couch, got on top of him, and beat the bloody fucking life out of the asshole.

When he was done, Rocco darted right at us, probably to attack Connor for leaving him to face the guy on his own. "Now, take a fuckin' deep breath, Roc!" Connor shouted as he flung him over onto the pool table and held him down. "You did fine! It was nicely done!"

"I'll say," I remarked, reaching over to help Rocco to his feet. Then, I found myself in Connor's arms, lifted off my feet and spun around the room until I was dizzy.

"Ah, you're such an angel, Gracie!" he declared as he held me in a tight embrace when he had put me down. He definitely was flooded with that "high on victory" feeling. I hugged him as tight as my trained arms would allow me.

When we finally separated, I stumbled straight back into Rocco's arms, and I decided to hug him as well. "Feel better, Roc?"

"Fuck yeah," he said just before handing me off to Murphy.

"Ya did beautifully, little sister," Murphy said, giving me a very brotherly hug.

"We all did," I corrected, standing back to see all three of my companions. We were trigger happy and tired, but we were victorious.

* * *

I still have a hard time explaining what happened when we left that house. We got out to the front steps, and we met with two people.

One was an old man - tall, white hair, white beard, dressed all in black with a big leather coat. The other was a woman - shorter and thinner, with just-past-shoulder length blonde waves and a curvy figure. Her face bore the beginning of age lines, and her waist held a gun belt with six revolvers. Both of them wore sunglasses, but something about the woman's face seemed odd.

The man threw open his coat, revealing a custom-made vest that held six guns. He and the woman each drew two.

Shots rang out all around us. They hit the bushes, the siding of the house, the columns on the front porch. It was only a matter of time before they bit into our flesh.

It was fucking Armageddon. I was facing down death, scared shitless but trying my damned hardest to be brave. I knew I needed to survive. I couldn't let myself die before getting the answers I needed. I just couldn't fucking let it happen.

I stood between my Saints, each of us furiously emptying our barrels at these two that were bold enough to challenge us. As their guns ran out of ammunition, they dropped them and each drew two more. We couldn't let them win. We just couldn't.

Rocco was the first to fall. He was shot in the hand, blowing a finger clean off. Murphy was next, taking a shot to his forearm. And Connor was last. His shot got him in the leg and threw him straight to the ground. Then, only I remained standing.

I had no time to run to my love, hold him in my arms, and whisper that he would be okay… that I loved him and would watch over him. I had some fucking business to take care of.

The male assailant had taken a few shots of his own and then run off, but not before landing a fucking bullet each in my left shoulder and thigh. The woman had spent all her bullets and was standing motionless in the street. Despite the searing pain in my shoulder and the blood dripping all over me, I threw my guns to the ground and limped furiously over to her. She did nothing to protect herself as I grabbed her by the throat with my good arm and threw her against the parked car behind her.

"You'll fucking pay for that, you bitch!" I screamed, raising my hand to land a punch in her jaw.

But, for some reason, the woman was laughing. She shook with light, joyful laughter that stung my angry heart.

Then, her sunglasses came off and her face was revealed.

I was looking into the face of Anne Marie Reilly.

My mother.

"What the hell?" My voice came out in gasps. My mother had come out of hiding for _this_? To nearly blow my head off?

"Ah, Gracie," she said, her familiar voice bringing back so many memories. "I wondered when I'd see your lovely face again." She stood up and brushed herself off.

"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed. "A mother doesn't take six guns to her fucking daughter!"

"I wasn't aiming at you!" she screamed. "Or them! That man asked for my help in finding those two Irishmen, and I knew it would bring me to you again! I didn't intend to kill any of you! That was all him!"

"Who was he?" I asked furiously. When she didn't answer me, I screamed, "_Who was he_?"

But Anne Marie Reilly said not a word. She simply turned on her heel and walked off, abandoning me to mystery.

I let out a long, agonized scream as I dropped to my knees, clutching my bleeding shoulder and leg. I screamed and sobbed equally, each one angrier than the last. Finally, I only had sobs left as I doubled over and fell to the pavement, surrounded by bullet casings and blood.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" I screamed when Connor tried to lift me up. I stood up my own. I was so angry, and I didn't want anyone touching me for any fucking reason.

One look into my eyes and he knew. "That was your mother… wasn't it?"

"Yes!" My scream was wrapped in a loud, long, devastated sob.

"Get her in the fuckin' van!" Murphy's shout broke the tension. "And let's get the fuck outta here!"

Suddenly weak, I let Connor carry me back into the van we had come in. I sat next to him in the backseat as we sped off, our blood mixing in the space between us. I sobbed against his shoulder, my anger replaced with confusion and then sadness.

Mom was now gone from my life. She had her one chance, and she fucked it up. Connor and Murphy were my only comfort now.

* * *

There was no time to get all the way across town to Ellie's place, so we ended up at Rocco's mother's house.

"We can't go to a hospital!" Murphy pointed out angrily once we were gathered in the kitchen. He was busy heating the clothes iron over the stove. I knew then what we were going to have to do. "They'll figure us out!"

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I screamed, pounding my fists on the kitchen table. I couldn't deal with any more pain. My chest shook and my stomach lurched as I doubled over onto the table, already tainting it with my dripping blood. What a great way to end one of the shittiest days of my fucking life.

"It has to be done, sweetheart," Connor insisted, sounding almost afraid to touch me. "It has to."

"I know, I know," I said bitterly, clenching the edges of the table. I was more in shock that anything else. Despite all the street fights I'd been in, I'd never – _ever_ – been shot. The Good Lord had always given me the strength to finish a fight before it got that fucked.

"Just get it the fuck over with, Murph," Connor spat out, slipping his arms around me to hoist me onto the table. His brother lifted the iron, now hot enough, from the hot burner on the stove and passed it over to him. "Do ya want me to do this?" Connor asked me.

"I don't fucking care!" I said, turning to give him my shoulder. "Just fucking do it."

"Five seconds, alright?" Connor looked into my eyes for a brief moment. I gave a bitter nod.

Then, the pain began.

My flesh was burning. Burning like the healing wound on my arm, but ten times longer. Murphy had forced a gag into my mouth, and my free arm swung up around his neck, clutching my dear brother close as my entire body violently lurched with pain. The hot, bloody steam snaked up into my nose, reeking of burning flesh and _pain_. I didn't know how much longer I could take this.

"Alright," Connor breathed as he drew the iron away. That's when I saw the tears in his beautiful eyes. "I can't do it, Murph!" he cried in a shaky voice. "I just can't do it!"

"It's alright," Murphy said calmly, taking the iron from him as my love rushed into my arms, weeping uncontrollably and burying his face in my neck.

"I'm so sorry, love," he cried. "I'm so, so sorry!"

"It's alright, darling," I cried in return, holding him against me like I was protecting a child. "It had to be done, and you were _very_ brave."

"Now, I've gotta do the one on your leg, okay?" Murphy pulled me out of my sobs. "But I can't do it through your jeans." Normally, I would have drop-kicked a guy for making such a suggestion, but Murphy had a point, and his intention was clearly out of concern. Without a word of protest, I quickly yanked my jeans off with my good arm. None of them made even the slightest comment about my black lace underwear.

The second burn went much faster than the first. I uttered not even the slightest scream as Connor and I held each other. My mind had turned to our first kiss, so delicate and holy. It had been a true gift from Heaven. I loved Connor so much. He was everything to me, at that moment more than ever.

Bravely, Murphy hoisted himself up onto the table. He was next.

"I'll do it," Connor volunteered, taking the iron from the stove where Murphy had put it to reheat. Murphy lay on his stomach on the table as Rocco slipped the gag into his mouth.

I bent down in front of him and whispered gently, "I'm here for you, my dear brother. It'll all be over soon." I took his trembling hand, and it began.

Connor wept bitter tears as he pressed the iron into the flesh of his brother's injured arm. Murphy's free arm was thrown around my waist, drawing me as close as I could be to him.

Rocco screamed the loudest so far when it was time to deal with the stub of his missing finger.

…And then my love's turn came.

There was no question that I didn't have the guts to hurt my love in such a way. "Darling, I'm here," I cooed as I stood behind him, wrapping him in a beautiful, tight embrace. Murphy silently handed me the gag, which I regretfully fit into his mouth. Once I wrapped it tightly around both of my hands so it couldn't come out, I gave the okay to Rocco, who held the iron.

My love's cries of pain were the worst I'd ever heard. I pressed my shaking lips into his cheek, over and over and over to try and offer the slightest bits of comfort. Murphy had his arms around both of us, holding our little vigilante family together with all the strength we had between us.

As soon as it was over, our wounds were bandaged, and the atmosphere was calm, I grabbed Connor by the front of his shirt and pulled him into one of the bedrooms. I leaned against the door to shut it, my entire body shaking as I breathed deeply. Connor slowly sat down on the bed, hissing in pain along the way when the weight fell on his injured leg. I turned around to face him.

"I love you, Connor," I said firmly, staring straight into his eyes from ten feet away.

"I love you, too, Grace," said Connor. He held out his arms and I walked into them, sitting softly on his lap and taking his tearstained face in my hands.

"Are you alright?" I asked, gently wiping away his tears.

"Yeah," he said slowly, hugging me around my waist. "You?"

"Fine," I said.

"You're still a fucking shitty liar," Connor said, finally breaking into a smile.

"Oh, you!" I tackled him down onto the bed, ignoring the burst of pain in my shoulder. I straddled him across his waist, looking down on him with a fiery smirk on my lips.

"I surrender! I surrender!" he begged just before I brought my hands to his sides, pinching them at just the right spots. He laughed and shook underneath me as I continued to tickle him, until he finally got the upper hand and traded positions with me.

"Now, _you're_ the one that's playin' with hot water, my love," he warned as he pulled me up into his arms and planted a long, rough kiss on my neck. When I let out a startled moan, he kept at it, the euphoria forcing me to bend my head back, which only allowed him more access.

"That's… _my_ line!" I finally growled, yanking myself away and playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"We're a dangerous pair," Connor observed once our laughter died down. I had moved off of his lap to give myself a little more room.

"Yes, we are, my devilish Irishman," I replied, leaning forward to kiss him.

"No one stands a chance against us," said Connor, touching our foreheads together.

"No one," I said. "Not one goddamn fucking soul."

* * *

That night, the four of us sat in the kitchen, loading up on Tylenol to chase away the aching of our new wounds. I felt like one gigantic bruise, with both my gun burn and the two new bullet wounds. Being the best friend of a future doctor, I had to be a stickler and remind the boys that they couldn't drink while taking any sort of medication. They all gave me nasty looks, but at least they complied.

"That fucking hurts," I complained as Connor adjusted the bandage around my leg. I had changed into shorts to make accessing it easier.

"I'm sorry, love," he whispered.

"I'm sorry ya had to do that to her," Murphy said, his voice calm and serene.

"He was very brave," I said, lovingly caressing his face. Then, I caught sight of the cross scratches on the back of my left hand. They were the ones Murphy had given me when we were nearly executed together. I saw them as a symbol of our connection as brother and sister, and a totem of the first real hell we'd been through together. "Just like you were in that goddamn alley," I added, holding out my hand to show him the scratches.

"I still have mine, too," he said, bringing his own into view.

"I'd like to make those marks permanent, if you know what I mean," I suggested with a slight smirk.

"Get me a pen and a fucking sewing needle," Murphy said.

Not even two minutes later, I was sitting across from Murphy at the kitchen table, getting my first homemade tattoo. Murphy had taken a black ballpoint pen and rigged it with the sewing needle instead of its usual tip.

"That's fucking badass," Rocco remarked as Murphy made the first few scratches. As he applied pressure with the needle, the ink would flow down the tip and fill the wound. As it mixed with my blood and then healed, it would be as permanent as our sibling bond.

"One of the most touching things anyone's ever done for me," I said, just before stifling a hiss of pain. Murphy had to scratch fairly deep to make sure the ink would set properly.

"All done," he concluded, setting the pen aside and covering the new inking with a Band-Aid. "My turn."

"Give me your fucking hand," I said, snatching the pen.

"With fucking pleasure," Murphy said as I began. Being that the wounds were in our hands, there was very little bloodshed. I smiled with pride as the marks grew black from the pen ink. Murphy and I were marked forever as brother and sister, partners in crime, Saint and Angel.

"Aww, now I want one," Connor pouted as I finished the cross's vertical bar.

"Sorry," I said, just starting the crossbeam. "You and I can get matching inks someday, but these crosses are for me and Murph."

"What would you want to get?" Connor asked, clearly beginning to enjoy the idea.

"_Fortitudo et fides_," I said, almost immediately. "On our inner right forearms." It was an ink I'd been planning for years, almost since I'd gotten my "Forever a Child of God," but I'd always intended to match it with someone else.

"Fuckin' perfect," Connor said, leaning down to kiss my cheek as I made the finishing touches on Murphy's ink.

"_Grace_ is fuckin' perfect, my dear brother," Murphy added. Once I had put a fresh Band-Aid over the tat, he pulled me gently down onto his lap.

"That she is, brother," Connor agreed, kissing my cheek again. "That she is."


	10. Holy Bond, Heavenly Warning

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 10**: Holy Bond, Heavenly Warning

Sitting in the simple wooden church pew, I took slow, deep breaths. Mom's red-beaded rosary was in my fingers while Daddy's hung around my neck. I leaned against the very edge, right beneath one of the beautiful stained-glass windows. One knee was folded against my chest while the other dangled loose.

"What do I do here, Lord?" I whispered to the heavens. "Is it wrong for me to do what I now do? I know you've spoken 'thou shalt not kill,' but the lives I've taken were those of some of the worst of evil men. I'm ashamed to say that I felt good when they dropped, but they were not innocent men. If I ever take an innocent life, accidental or otherwise, that will be the end of me. I live for the innocent, and I take the lives of the wicked.

"And now I ask… is it wrong to love Connor MacManus? I've known him only a short time, but I know what we feel. Something dances in my heart whenever I get a gaze at those beautiful eyes of his. He protects me, and he is proud of me. He lets me stand at his side and be the guardian angel I have been called to be. But he kills as well. He does the exact same thing I do. We are as one, following the same calling from the same God, so if there is a punishment, we will definitely both face it equally.

"And what of my mother? Why didn't she come home to me instead of running away? Why did she shoot at us? Where is she now? Is she now a criminal, too?"

I paused in my prayer to look across the church. To my surprise, I saw Connor and Murphy all the way on the other side, with their heads bent in prayer. Connor looked over at me and, for a brief second, started to get up, but I had such a look on my face then. It was a toss-up between despair, confused love, and sheer fucking anger. He clearly knew better than to get involved at that moment.

I clutched Mom's rosary so hard that it left little red welts in the delicate skin of my palms. This was a moment not for tears, but for questions, and I needed some answers.

I was a lost soul, clutching onto a Calling and trying to do the right thing.

Or was it really the right thing? For all I knew, I was probably going to burn in Hell for my deeds. After all, _thou shalt not kill_ was one of the Ten Commandments that I held so near and dear to my heart… so why was I so blatantly ignoring one of them?

"…Grace?" The voice was beautiful, delicate, and cautious. I didn't have to look up to know that Connor now sat in the pew behind me. I didn't speak. "Can ya listen to me for a moment, sweetheart?" I nodded in response, and he continued. "We're getting into some really serious shit here, Grace. Every day, it gets worse. I didn't think we were going to last past that motherfucker… and your mother."

"I didn't think so either," I muttered softly.

"We're gambling with our lives here, Grace," Connor said. "And it hurts me to see you getting so deep into it."

"I understand," I said. "But we received the same Calling, so we need to be in this together, not just as a couple but also as a family."

"Aye," said Connor. "Just know that I love you through every bit of shit we face together."

"I love you, too, Connor," I whispered, turning my head to catch the beautiful smile on his face. Then, I took a deep breath and sighed. "You know, I used to come to Mass here every Sunday when I was younger."

"Used to?" Connor was curious.

I nodded. "I stopped coming soon after I turned seventeen. I thought God had abandoned me."

"God hasn't abandoned you," Connor assured me.

"I know that now," I said. Then, a memory flashed into my head.

_I sat alone in the church, way in the back, crying my eyes out. I had just received news of Mom and Daddy getting into a car accident and landing in the IC unit of the hospital. I was seventeen._

_I had gone home after school to find an empty house. When I was in high school, before they changed jobs, Mom and Daddy were always there when I came home from school. Mom would always give me a steaming cup of my favorite tea, and Daddy would always have some of my favorite music playing._

_I knew something was wrong that day._

_I had called the police to get answers, and they had told me what happened. Once I hung up, I ran straight to the church. I needed to cry in the comfort of the Lord's arms._

_As I cried, I heard the church doors open behind me, and a man came in. I barely recognized this man as a regular churchgoer, but I had never formally met him. I stifled my cries so as not to distract him as he walked right up to the altar and knelt down in prayer. Was God sending this man into my presence for a reason? Did he need guidance the same way I did?_

_When he stood up, he placed a little kiss on the feet of the giant crucifix before turning and walking back down the aisle. His simple wooden rosary dangled from his neck. My own pearl one was clutched tightly in my right hand._

_Much to my surprise, he stopped when he came to my row. When he knelt next to me, he removed his sunglasses to reveal the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen._

"_The Holy Father is with you, sweetheart," he had whispered, taking the crucifix of my rosary and giving it a gentle kiss._

"_And with you as well," I whispered back to him through my tears._

_He quickly brushed my cheek with his hand before getting up and walking out. That would be my last day in this church for five years._

"I didn't meet you on St. Patrick's Day," I told Connor as I came out of my memory.

"Oh?" He clearly didn't understand, but was curious nonetheless.

"I met you five years ago, almost to the day," I said. "I was in here crying and you offered me comfort." Connor closed his eyes and thought for a moment. When he opened them again, it was clear that he, too, remembered that day.

"You're right," he said with a smile. "You were a trembling little soul, just looking for her way."

"That one little touch meant the world to me," I said.

"God has placed us in each other's lives, Grace," said Connor.

"I believe He has," I said. "And God has placed the love in my heart that I feel for you."

"No," he said gently. "You discovered that on your own, the same way I did for you."

I got up from the pew and walked around behind me to join Connor. As soon as I sat down beside him, I pulled him gently into my arms. At that moment, we didn't need a kiss to show our love. One simple embrace said more at that moment than a million kisses ever would.

* * *

As soon as I eased out of Connor's embrace, I saw Murphy standing near us. "Connor, do ya think I could have a word with her?"

"Sure thing, man," Connor said as he got up, kissed my forehead, and went well out of earshot to the front pews.

"What's up, Murph?" I inquired as my brother took his seat next to me.

"I just wanted to tell you a few things," he began.

"Sure," I said. "I'm all ears."

"Well, you obviously already know that my dear brother is in love with ya," Murphy said.

"Yes, of course," I said with a nod. "He told me two nights ago."

"I know it may seem like it happened too fast, but I also know he's certain," said Murphy. "It's one of the ways he and I are different. I've never put much stock on love, and I always end up miserable 'cause of it. Him, he'd be willin' to bet his life on the feelin' he holds for ya."

"I've never felt the way I feel for him," I admitted sadly. "I know it's dreadfully soon, and I really can't explain it any better, but I know what I feel. It's all new to me, but I know it's real."

"I understand," said Murphy. "Ya know, from the first moment I saw ya, I knew ya were gonna be a sister to me."

"Really?" My eyes brightened.

"Yeah," he said. "I didn't anticipate what ya would be to Connor, but I knew ya had that spunk that only comes from a baby sister. You're an impressive girl, and ya've got a fire in you that I've never seen before, especially in a girl."

Up ahead of us by the altar, I saw, to my surprise, a drunken Agent Smecker stumble into the confessional. "What the hell?" I stood up to investigate when I saw Rocco and the priest enter the booth as well, and I immediately felt my anger flare up.

"That tears it," I declared, tucking my rosary back into my shirt. "I'm sorry, Murphy, but I'm _not_ gonna stand for that."

"Go with the light, little sis," Murphy said with a cute smirk as I took off down the aisle. I had drawn one of my six-shooters, and I marched like I was ready to take down the Devil himself. My eyes stung with a couple tears as I thought of what Rocco was probably willing to do to that poor priest.

"Sweetheart, let me take care of this." I heard Connor's gentle voice behind me. He took me by the arm and gently started to tug me away from the confessional.

"What the hell, Connor?" Why was he stopping me? "You don't think I can handle this?"

"Of course I do," he said immediately. "Just let me handle this one, please."

"Oh, fuck off!" I hissed angrily, ripping my arm from his grip and storming off.

* * *

I exited the church and sat down on the front steps. Who the hell was Connor MacManus to tell me what I could and couldn't do? My heart was burning with both love and anger, and I didn't know which one was stronger.

I knew it was just a quick little spat and we would both get over it and stop acting like children, so I decided just to forget about it for the moment.

"Grace?"

I half-expected the sudden voice to be Connor, coming to ask my forgiveness. What an idiot I was – I was so wrapped up in that ten-second fight that I failed to realize until several seconds later that the voice was female. By that point, the young woman had staggered over and was now right in front of me.

"El… _Ellie_?!" The name burst from my lips with surprise and shock.

My beloved Ellie, the only sister I knew, stood above me in the worst shape I had ever seen any human being in. Starting with her face: she had a black eye, a dried bloody nose, a severely bruised lip, and what looked like a broken cheekbone. Then to her arms and legs: all four were marred with a sickening manner of cuts, scrapes, and utterly disgusting bruises.

I simply stared at her for a while until the words finally came to my mouth. "Ellie, what the fuck _happened_ to you?"

"Babe, I need your help," she begged, falling to her knees in front of me, her body racking with sobs. I gently placed my hands on her shoulders to steady her. My own body shook with barely-suppressed fear.

"What… _happened_?" I repeated, starving for answers.

"I… I've gotten into a lot of trouble lately," Ellie began, her sobs quieting and her tears drying.

"What kind of trouble?" I coaxed. I needed answers from my precious friend, and I despised having to wait.

"I couldn't handle med school, and I quit," Ellie said. "I didn't want to go back to the apartment and eventually have to face my parents, so I kinda just ran away." I was tempted to point out the stupidity of such a decision, but I bit my tongue and listened to the rest of her story. "I just hopped between like a gazillion different motels, each one skuzzier than the last. Sometimes I drank my ass off. Other times I just slept all day. I thought of you every day, babe. I prayed for your safety almost every minute I could."

"How did you get like this?" I asked, gesturing to her many, _many_ wounds.

"I was walking home from a convenience store last night, and I was kidnapped," she said, letting out one single shaky sob as she mentally relived the memory.

"Babe, it's okay," I said, brushing her lovely straight red locks away from her face. "You can tell me."

"They put a bag over my head and dragged me into some old warehouse," said Ellie. "It reeked of drugs and stale piss. Six men took turns beating and raping me."

"Good _God_!" I shrieked, clapping my hands to my mouth. No one treats my Ellie like that and gets the fuck away with it. _No one_.

"Babe, I know exactly who these guys are and how to get to them," Ellie said.

"Did you call the police?" I asked, moving to sit next to her on the steps.

"Nope," Ellie said bluntly. "They're fucking Russian mob guys. They know how to get away with anything. We've gotta take them down ourselves."

"Fuck yeah, we do," I said with excitement.

"Can you do that for me, babe?" Ellie asked, her face brightening at the thought of becoming a vigilante like me.

"Fuck yeah, I can!" I declared with pride. "We can go over there right fucking now if you want to."

"Thank you so much, babe," Ellie gushed as we stood up and hugged for the first time in too many months. "You still mean the fucking world to me."

As we took off, arms linked, down the street and back towards her apartment, a thought came to my mind. Now, how the hell was I going to explain this to Connor? I knew he was going to be royally pissed, but I decided that this job was for Ellie and me. This was _our_ moment – as best friends, sisters, and fellow angels. We were finally back in each other's lives, and this was the perfect spark to start the fire.

"Do you still know how to fire a gun?" I asked of Ellie when we reached her apartment. I had cleaned up before the boys and I left, so there was no trace of us being there.

"Yeah, of course," Ellie said as she plopped down on the couch. "Remember, babe, _I_ was the one that taught you all those kickass moves when a match went bad." I smiled fondly as I remembered our college days, when she had been my arm wrestling partner. The two of us were inseparable – tough, unstoppable angels of the night. We fought together, and we shot together. Grace and Ellie - like the names of two notorious western outlaws.

* * *

The two of spent the morning preparing for the job. We started by taking long, hot showers and washing away any of the filth that had accumulated on Ellie's body during her captivity. We then suited up in red tank tops, our favorite blue jeans, and black combat boots to start. We added shoulder holsters for that lovely little badass touch and to provide a space for our weapons. Finally, Ellie brought out something truly amazing.

"I've saved these since the day we graduated," she explained as she pulled two black leather vests from a box behind the TV. I shed a tear of joy. Those vests had been practically fused to our skin, through every match and every night we stood through together. They were well-worn and slightly frayed from years of loving use. They were our trademark, a symbol of who we were.

"I thought these were gone," I said as I put mine on and fastened the cracked buttons.

"No way in hell," Ellie said as she brought a black eyeliner pencil to my lids. "Now, tell me more about this Irishman of yours." On the way back from the church, I had mentioned Connor and Murphy, with obvious and particular focus on the former.

"Now, _that's_ an interesting story," I began, dozens of memories reeling through my head. "I met him on Saint Patty's Day at a pub down in the shithole that is now my beloved South Boston."

"Is he cute?" Ellie asked. She had taken a mirror and was now lining her own green eyes.

"He's fucking gorgeous," I said with a devilish smile. "He's my sexy, badass partner in crime."

"So, you've been going on those jobs with him?" Ellie asked.

"Every single one," I said proudly, running a tube of fierce red lipstick over my small mouth. "It's basically my new life."

"Well, I'm jealous," Ellie pouted. "That sounds so amazing."

"It came from a Holy Calling," I explained, passing her the lipstick tube. "Connor and Murphy took me under their wing and I've been at their side ever since."

"Well, he'll be so fucking proud of you once we're done today," Ellie said. "You can count on it."

For a final touch, I applied several layers of my best concealer to the bruises and cuts on Ellie's face. When I was done with her, it looked like the assault had never happened. When we did this shit, I wanted to make sure that her unbroken pretty face was the last thing those motherfuckers saw on this earth.


	11. In Control, the Angels' Revenge

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 11**: In Control, the Angels' Revenge

At noon on the dot, Ellie and I left her apartment and took the T back into the underbelly of South Boston. True to my word, I hadn't left even the slightest hint for Connor as to what I was doing. I knew full well that he would not be pleased when I got back, but I was a big girl and I could do whatever I fucking wanted to.

We got to the warehouse around two and went in through a garage entrance. Ellie's description was dead accurate. The place reeked of sweat, blood, urine, and probably every drug known to man.

"They like to spread out through all six floors," Ellie explained in a whisper. There was just enough light coming in from the grime-covered windows to allow us to find our way around. The place was mostly empty, save for a few beaten up cars and all manner of drug paraphernalia. "We'll have to take them out one at a time." It sounded like something from a sick video game.

"Who's over there?" A deep voice sounded. We looked across the room to see a big man with a big-ass gun advancing on us. Six-shooters drawn, we matched his pace. With six men and twelve bullets between us, we had to be pretty dead-on with our kills, only able to spare two bullets at the most for each one. I had left the bag containing my spare ammunition with Connor and Murphy, and I was _not_ going to go back and be forced to explain everything to them.

"Shut up, you fuckass," Ellie snarled when the three of us met in the beam of light cast on the center of the floor.

Two shots, one from each of us, and he was finished.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," I praised Ellie as we bent over the blood-gushing body to make the Sign of the Cross on his face.

"One down, five to go," she said as we regrouped and made our way for the stairs.

Three floors and three more bodies later, we stood on the fifth floor, looking across the shadows at four men instead of one or two.

"Fuck," Ellie whispered. We were huddled in the stairwell, not yet seen. There was fear in her emerald eyes, something I had not yet seen. It was completely unfamiliar, and it scared the fucking hell out of me. "I thought there were only two more. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

"We can take them," I insisted. "I know we can."

"They must have called for backup when they heard the shots," Ellie explained with a groan. "There's more than one staircase, and they could have easily gotten by without us noticing."

"Well, how many bullets do we have left?" I asked, opening the barrel of my gun to count.

"I've got two," Ellie said.

"Two as well," I said. We both closed the barrels as quietly as possible. I peeked over the stairwell to get another look. Each of the four men was big, beefy, and – I had to admit – pretty scary-looking. Thank God they were pretty spread out over the room. If we moved quickly and didn't screw around, we would probably be able to take them down before they had a chance to assemble.

"Well, we can't just hide here forever," Ellie insisted. "These fuckasses have to be taken down."

"I agree one hundred percent, babe," I said.

"You ready for this?" she asked, the fear now completely erased from her voice.

"Fuck yeah," I said, entwining our left hands like we were preparing for an arm wrestle. While my tattoo read "Forever a Child of God," hers read "and so I shall always be." Both were accompanied by the same Celtic cross. We had gotten these inkings together a long time ago, just after we turned 18, and they still were a marker for the bond of sisterhood we shared.

"Angels of the Night?" Ellie whispered our long-lost title.

"For-fucking-ever," I concluded.

We cocked our guns and burst from the stairwell. Four shots from two matching revolvers rang out in the South Boston morning, bursting blood from four well-deserving mob men. Their blood splattered through the air, mixing with every kind of filth when it reached the ground.

Two of them were dead at that very instant. The other two had caught the shots in non-crucial body parts, so we still had some work to do.

I threw my empty revolver to the ground, took a running leap, and landed a well-aimed spinning kick right across one of the bastards' chests. He doubled over in pain, but still was not dead. No more fucking Miss Nice-Lady Grace. It was time for business.

"_And so the Angel came down,_" I called out to the heavens. The man had staggered to his feet and was now aiming punches at me.

"_And swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him._" I had taken a punch to my stomach, but I had thrown myself back just in time to avoid having the wind knocked out of me. He took advantage of my moment of weakness and caught me in a headlock. I sank my teeth into his sweaty arm, and he freed me in an instant.

"_And from that moment on._" One heavy right hook to his head brought him down to his knees. That's when I saw the gun in his belt. I took it, cocked in, and held it to the trembling man's forehead.

"_She was the Angel of Death._"

The shot burst clear through his evil head and sprayed the floor with blood.

"Babe, we are so goddamn badass!" Ellie declared with burning pride as she threw her 'borrowed' weapon – a big, rusty hunting knife – to the bloody floor. "It's been too fucking long since we've stood together like this."

"You know it," I said with a sharp sigh of relief.

"That was too fucking easy," Ellie said as we made our way back down the stairs.

"Now, it's not just arm wrestles and street spats," I realized.

"You're right, babe," Ellie said as we emerged into the sunshine. "We make a damn good team, don't we?"

"We sure fucking do."

* * *

I was right. Once I had dropped Ellie back at her apartment and gotten myself back to the house where I was staying with the boys, I was met with a bit of hell from Connor.

"Where the fuck were you?" were the first words I heard from his lips when I walked through the door. From what I could see and hear, we were the only ones there.

"What the hell, Connor?" I was amused rather than angry at the man I loved. "Am I supposed to report to you every time I go somewhere?"

"You were gone for six fuckin' hours," he snarled.

"I had something important to do, if you _must_ know," I said.

"And what might that have been?" he asked, his voice slipping a bit into concern rather than pure anger.

"I met up with an old friend who had gotten into some serious deep shit," I explained, taking a seat beside him on the couch. "We went after the mob guys that hurt her, and we took them down. Neither of us were hurt."

"Ya could've gotten yourself killed, Grace," Connor said, standing up and beginning to pace the room. "I should've been there with ya."

"Oh, don't give me that shit, Connor!" Now, I was purely exasperated. "We were fine! What's the difference if I take matters into my own hands once in a while? I'm not a fucking child!"

"Why did ya feel the need to take it on yourself?" Connor demanded. "I thought we fought together."

"It wasn't your battle to fight," I said quietly. "You never knew Ellie. She's my friend, and our ties run deep. It was something she and I had to do alone."

"Any battle 'o yours is my fuckin' battle, too," Connor declared. As soon as I heard those words pass from his lips, I was finished. Any reserves of fighting strength I had left in me were wiped clean.

"Connor…" I whispered. "I'm so sorry." The expression on his face weakened me. He was sad, angry, scared, and desperately in love – all at the same time. "I should have told you." I hung my head in shame.

"Gracie, come here," he said softly, holding out his arms and beckoning me to him.

"No," I said, shaking my head and standing my ground. "Not until you make me a promise."

"Anything," he said.

"Just promise that you won't ever fucking talk to me like that again!" My voice broke out in a cracked, angry shout.

"I fuckin' promise ya, Grace!" He shouted back. Then, I was hoisted into his arms. My legs created a vise-like grip around his waist as our lips fiercely fell together. As if holding on for dear life, I flung my arms around his neck, tugging him right up against me. What the fuck was happening?

It was a battle of passion. A desperate fight. A war of anger and love.

He pressed me up against the wall, his lips moving to my neck. "I thought I'd lost ya," he murmured against my skin as his teeth made a series of gentle nips.

"You'll never lose me," I promised with a pleasured gasp. "Never." I grabbed his head in my hands and pulled him back to my lips.

He broke the kiss, staring deep into my eyes, his grip on me never loosening.

We were both speechless as Connor set me back down on my feet and held me loosely around my waist. "We've got another job tomorrow night," he finally said.

"Oh?" My voice was quiet as I absentmindedly ran my tattooed hand up and down his sculpted chest.

"We're finally wipin' Pappa Joe off the face 'o the Earth," Connor said, his hand snaking up my shirt and coming to rest in the middle of my back. "We'll get 'im in the comfort of his own home."

"What then?" I asked, stealing a quick glance into his eyes.

"We're movin' on from there," Connor said. His lips pressed to the top of my head.

"Where to?" My tattooed hand met with his and brought it gingerly to my lips.

"Prob'ly New York," Connor answered, his lips coming to my forehead. "We got in touch with Smecker, that FBI agent, an' he said he'd cover our tracks. He's a good man, an' he's gonna help us now."

"And… I'm going with you?" I whispered, looking back up with him.

"You'd fuckin' better be," he said with a laugh, kissing me tenderly. "I just want to let ya know, Grace, that this is goin' to be the craziest and most shit-faced dangerous hit we've done so far."

"Can't be worse than the one I just got back from," I remarked, leaning completely into him as his arms looped around me.

"It will be." The seriousness of his voice was enough to convince me. "Somethin's tellin' me it will be."

"I believe you." I choked on a bit of fear.

"I'm not sure if I want ya comin' with us for this one," Connor admitted sadly, squeezing me a bit closer.

"Don't you give me that, Connor," I warned fiercely. "You know deep down that we can't and won't be separated, and you sure as hell won't stop me from doing what I've been called to do. It's my job to protect you, and you know it."

"You're certainly a persuasive one," Connor said, laughing against my skin as he pressed a kiss to my cheek.

"Hot water," I whispered in his ear just before yanking him to my lips again.


	12. Angels, Take the Stand

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 12**: Angels, Take the Stand

…And I was fool enough to think that Ellie and I would only ever do that one hit together and be back to our days of cute little arm wrestles and street fighting. Wrong. Dead, dead wrong.

As it turned out after checking the bodies in the warehouse, the leader of Ellie's band of attackers had slipped away after hearing the gunshots and was hiding in an abandoned subway tunnel. Were we going to stand for that? Fuck no.

"Ellie needs me again," I announced when I got off the phone. It was the morning of the day we were slated to take out Pappa Joe.

"What happened this time?" Connor asked, taking a long sip of coffee and a long drag from a cigarette.

"Apparently, we didn't get _all_ of the mob guys yesterday," I explained, sitting down next to him with my own coffee cup in my hands.

"How many are left?" Murphy asked.

"Just one – the leader," I said, taking a long, comforting sip. God, I loved coffee so damn much.

"That sounds too fuckin' easy," Murphy laughed.

"Ya sure ya can handle it?" Connor asked. My only response was a 'do I look stupid?' glare.

"You gotta stop worryin' about her so damn much, Connor," Rocco chimed in. "From what I can see, this chick can take care of herself."

"Yeah, give her a break, man," Murphy added.

"Alright, alright, I give up!" Connor insisted, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I just care about her, is all."

"I understand, sweetheart," I said, leaning over and patting him on his knee. "Believe me, I was even _more_ careful yesterday when I was without you than I was on any mission we've been on together."

"Well, I'm sold," Connor said with a smile. "Go show that bastard what you're made of."

"We're countin' on you to impress us, Gracie," said Murphy. Rather than correct them every single fucking time, I had decided to drop the name boundaries altogether and let them call me whatever they wanted.

"If you want to be impressed, you guys can tag along," I suggested, "but you can_not_ get involved. This is me and Ellie's thing."

* * *

"Remind me again why they're with us?" Ellie inquired as we made our way into the subway tunnel. It had originally been intended as an extension of the Orange Line, but something had gone wrong during construction, and the project had been abandoned. Now, the tunnel was a frequent refuge for druggies, pimps, and mob guys.

Per my insistence, Connor and Murphy walked about a hundred feet behind us. They'd also left any weapons back at the house. Rocco had decided to stay behind and, as he called it, 'trip on Tylenol.' Fine with me. Less interference that way.

"They wanted to see what I can do," I explained. "Connor was a little pissed that I went without telling him yesterday. He can get a little overprotective sometimes."

"Typical man behavior," Ellie remarked. "They think they can control us as soon as we say 'I love you'."

"Exactly," I said. "I do love Connor, but sometimes I think he needs to give me a little space."

"I've never known you as one to be tied down," said Ellie. "Even when we were little kids, you _never_ let someone push you around or tell you what to do."

"Except for my parents, that's _so_ damn true," I agreed. "I've always been one to fly solo."

"Me as well," said Ellie. "That's why we're so goddamn perfect together. We don't take no _shit_ from no _one_."

"Exactly," I said. "God, Ellie, it's so great to have you back. I don't know how I got along without you."

"Nothing can separate us, babe," Ellie said with a big smile. "Ever."

"Hey, look!" I stopped, quieted my voice to a whisper, and pointed ahead of us in the tunnel. Sure enough, a tall suited man was visible at the farthest limits of our field of vision. The light was dreadfully dim, so there was so far very little chance of him seeing us. He also had not single accomplice. Too fucking easy.

"Alright," Ellie said, drawing her revolver. "You ready for this, babe?"

"Just one sec," I said, turning to walk back to Connor.

"Do ya see him?" he asked when I was within earshot.

"Yeah – he's all the way at the end," I said, drawing my own six-shooter.

"Go get him, lassie," Murphy said in encouragement, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

"Oh, I will," I promised, my smile absolutely wicked. "You can fucking count on it."

"Make me proud, my angel," Connor said, pressing a quick little kiss to my lips.

"I will," I concluded. With that, I turned on my heel and made my way back to Ellie. "Let's fucking go," I said once we were back together. The Angels of the Night took off on a fateful march, proudly on their way to exterminate a goddamn waste of a life that had done us wrong.

"Who the fuck are you?" Our victim snarled, the thickness of his Russian accent garbled by obvious drunkenness. His eyes grew wide with fear when our two beautiful six-shooters pointed right at his chest.

"My name is Grace, and this is my friend Ellie," I explained plainly. "You did Ellie wrong, and we're here to fix that."

"This is too fucking easy," Ellie laughed. "He's too drunk to even fight back."

"Where's your backup?" I inquired, genuinely curious. Surely, a mob leader would be able to scrounge up a few lackeys before going into hiding.

"You two bitches fucking killed them all," the man said.

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Ellie said. "You fuck-asses raped me."

"And then you beat her to shreds," I added, spitting at the man's feet for emphasis.

"Jackasses who beat and rape young women don't deserve to be graced with God's love," Ellie snarled.

"Each and every one of you will be nice and comfy where we're sending you," I said.

"And where's that, exactly?" the man asked, clearly just trying to prolong the inevitable. He obviously knew he had very little time left.

"Hell," I said bluntly. I then turned to Ellie. "Ready, babe?"

"Fuck yeah," Ellie said. Those were the last words that jackass bastard heard before he was sent to his judgment by the Angels of the Night. As his blood burst from his blackened heart and sprayed onto the filthy subway tracks, I felt nothing but the combination of success and relief flooding through my veins. Ellie and I were unstoppable.

"Fucking fantastic." I heard Connor's proud remark as he and Murphy moved to rejoin us once the gun smoke had settled.

"Back off for a minute, guys," I said seriously as Ellie and I bent down over the body. "We're not done yet."

"Rest well," Ellie whispered as we each made the Sign of the Cross in turn on the dead bastard's face.

"Alright, _now_ you can approach," I announced. Before I even had a chance to take another breath, I was lifted into the arms of my Irish love and presented with the cutest and most victorious of kisses.

"You two are fucking perfect for each other," Ellie remarked sweetly.

"You should see them after a spat," Murphy snickered, igniting a laugh in Ellie. I knew right then that those two were going to get along well. "They can't keep their hands off of each other."

"Shut up, Murph," I said, kicking him lightly from where I hung in Connor's arms.

"You girls are amazin'," Murphy said once I was back by Ellie's side. "How long do ya two go back?"

"Years," I said. "Ages."

"Practically since we were our mamas' wombs," said Ellie. "And you damn sure can't split us up."

"Good," Connor said, reaching over to tweak my nose. "'Cause we don't intend to."

* * *

"Now, how far do you ladies intend to go?" Murphy inquired. The four of us had returned to the house to rejoin Rocco, and we were all seated at the kitchen table, drinking beer. Rocco was passed out asleep on the living room couch, so it was just the four of us.

"As far as we deem necessary," Ellie declared. Being much more of a beer drinker than I am, she was already finished with her first bottle.

"As far as it takes," I added, only taking my fourth or fifth sip. "But really only when someone does us wrong."

"That's right," said Ellie. "We only took those mob fucks out because of what they did to me."

"We don't follow the Calling of the Saints and the Guardian," I pointed out. "That's for you guys and me."

"I'm not really intending to make a career of it," said Ellie. "Once all this shit is over, I want to go back to med school and get back to my life."

"I intend to stay with the boys, but the Angels of the Night will never be far apart," I said.

"Yeah, you've gotten yourself pretty deep," Ellie said, almost regretfully.

"Yeah, I know," I said, the reality of my actions starting to sink in. "I'm just going to spend the rest of my life a fugitive."

"But you've got us," Connor chimed in, reaching across the table to hold my hand.

"Forever, my baby sis," Murphy added, ruffling my hair in a successful attempt to make me laugh.

"I've gotta say: I'm really grateful to you guys for taking her in," Ellie said, her smile both relieved and downright ecstatic. "She needed some excitement in her boring-ass life."

"Yeah, I thought our days were over when you went to med school," I said, leaning back in my chair and basking in joy.

"But I'm back, if only for a little while," Ellie reminded me.

"That's damn right," said Murphy. "You've got an army behind ya, Gracie."

"And we all love you," Connor concluded.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Ellie went back to her apartment so the boys and Rocco and I could start preparing for our job with Pappa Joe.

"You don't seem nervous," Connor observed as I loaded my six-shooters and stowed them in my shoulder holster.

"I'm a little high on victory from killing that mob jackass," I said with a sigh. "Trust me: in a few hours, I'll be scared shitless and trembling 'til my hair falls out."

"Ya sure ya want to come with us?" Murphy asked, pausing in his gun loading to pass me a concerned glance.

"No, I'm not," I said truthfully. "But it's my duty to protect my Saints, and I'm not just gonna stop because I'm a little scared."

"Stubborn as fucking hell," Connor remarked with a smile. "That's gonna get ya in trouble someday."

"It already has, in case you haven't noticed," I pointed out. "I could have just ignored my calling and written it off as a hallucination caused by the horror of my daddy's murder, but _no_. I stuck with you two no matter _how_ scared I was. Knowing my shitty history with relationships, I could just be having a quick little two-week stand with Connor and leaving him in the dust, too scared for anything serious, but _no_. I ain't planning to leave him _anytime_ soon, if ever. And finally, I could have just comforted Ellie like a best friend after her rape and just let the police catch the bad guys, but _hell_ no. We took matters into our own hands, and we wouldn't have it _any_ other way."

"I'm at a loss for words here," Murphy admitted after a long moment of silence.

"I didn't know you felt that way, darlin'," Connor said, pulling me into a gentle hug. "That really hit me."

"I don't want to leave you, Connor," I whispered into his chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Murphy duck out of the room to give us a little privacy.

"Don't worry, my love," Connor whispered into my hair. "I don't want to leave ya, either."

"You won't have to," I promised, looking up into his beautiful eyes. "I'm here to stay."


	13. The Angels Go Marching In

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 13**: The Angels Go Marching In

It was over.

It was all fucking over.

We were in the basement of Pappa Joe's lair. Connor, Murphy, Rocco, and I were all handcuffed to chairs against the back wall. The boys and Rocco were all beaten, bloody, bruised, and sore. Their faces were covered in blood, Rocco's being the worst. Rocco was their main target, but I knew that none of us were leaving that night.

Connor and I were placed on opposite ends of the line, completely unable to see one another. It was clear to our captors that we were in a relationship, and they wanted to cause us as much pain as possible. While Connor had received his beatings, my chair was turned and dragged to the other end of the room, facing him, and I was held perfectly still and forced to watch every second of it while taking no wounds of my own.

I had made a mental note of every single fucking blow that my sweet love had received. I fully intended to repeat every last bit of it a hundredfold on the fuck-asses that had done it to him.

The four of us had been left alone in the room for a few sweet minutes as the men probably discussed what they were going to do to us. I was in no way prepared for what happened next.

"Time to go, missy." Pappa Joe had reentered the room and was swiftly approaching me.

"No," I whispered in disbelief.

"Don't ya dare fuckin' touch her!" Connor screamed in my defense. "Don't ya dare!"

Pappa Joe said nothing as he came up right behind me. "No!" I screamed louder as he undid my cuffs. Once I was free, he refastened the ones on my wrists. "_No, no, no!_" I was cruelly ripped out of the chair and yanked over to the door. "No matter what happens, Connor, I love you and I always will!"

I was pulled from the room and the door was shut. Connor was screaming my name over and over again, but I couldn't answer him. I decided to just stop fighting and reluctantly let Pappa Joe lead me back upstairs. He undid my cuffs and dumped me in the kitchen before leaving to do God knows what. I shivered when I realized that Connor probably only had a few more minutes to live.

When I finally had the strength to stand up from the now-bloodstained floor, I came face-to-face with one of Pappa Joe's henchmen. "Sturdy little girl," he remarked as he looked me over. "Those Irishmen chose well."

"If you're going to rape me, just get it over with," I said in a tired voice. I was beaten down and too weak to do anything to defend myself. I wished he would shoot me right then and there and free me from my misery.

"With pleasure," the man said, beginning to cross the room. Then, out of nowhere, came the all-too-familiar cocking of a beautiful six-shooter.

"Don't you fucking dare touch my baby girl," a voice threatened from the doorway.

My mother stepped into the kitchen, revolvers drawn and dressed all in black. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, revealing the whole beauty of her delicate face. Draped over one of her arms was my daddy's jacket, my favorite comfort besides Connor in this crazy world I had been thrown into.

The man had no time for talk before my mother blew his brains out. I was sprayed with his blood, but I didn't fucking care. My beloved mommy had turned from my attacker to my guardian angel.

"Mom, I'm so sorry!" She dropped her guns and opened her arms, which I gratefully ran into. "I'm so sorry for everything!"

"My sweet little girl," she murmured as she kissed my hair. "I should have told you."

"You were the one that called me at Rocco's apartment," I realized.

"I was," she confirmed, letting go of me to hold me at arms' length.

"Why?" I asked. "Why didn't you just come to me?"

"What the fuck happened?" We were broken out of our trance of familial love by the arrival of one of the other henchmen.

"Time to blow some brains out, my little Gracie," Mom said, tossing me the two guns strapped at her waist and picking her own up from the floor.

_Bang._

_Bang._

He was gone in two perfect shots. It was like shooting a drunk guy stumbling home on Saint Patty's Day.

"Now," Mom said, tucking the guns back into her belt and slipping Daddy's jacket onto my back. "Let's go and rescue that Irishman of yours."

"As Angels of Death," I concluded proudly, taking my mother's hand in mine.

"Not so fast, bitches." We were met with yet another of Pappa Joe's accomplices when we exited the kitchen. For some unknown reason, he was unarmed.

"Mom, wait," I said when I saw her drawing her gun. I had realized something. "He's the one that hurt Connor. I've got other plans for him."

"Absolutely," Mom said, getting behind the man and kicking him to his knees. She effectively held him in place by pressing her gun into the back of his neck.

"You worthless fuck-ass," I snarled, looking deep into the man's eyes. "You hurt the man that I love. You beat him to shreds and made me watch."

"Yeah?" The man was trying, but failing, to sound tough. The crack in his voice couldn't have fooled anyone. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"This." I prepared a right hook and landed it right across his face. I punched so hard that blood actually spurted from his mouth. "Did you like that? 'Cause you did that to my precious Connor. And, believe me, there's a _lot_ more."

I put the man through two long minutes of agony. I punched, kicked, and scratched on every part of his body that he had marred on my precious love. Something inside me was _screaming_ for me to just shoot him in the head and maintain my decency, but I couldn't do it. I had to make this man suffer as equally – preferably even more – as Connor had suffered by his doing.

Finally, when the son-of-a-bitch was a beaten, bloody mess at my feet, I pulled the trigger and ended his life.

"You gave him what he deserved, baby girl," Mom said as I took a few deep breaths. "You've done your man good tonight."

When it was certain that the coast was clear (Pappa Joe must have run away like the coward he was), we sped back down to the basement. When we were just outside the door, we stopped. Connor and Murphy's sobs echoed from inside, which confirmed that they were still alive.

"You daddy would be proud of you today, sweetheart," Mom said. "Look at you. You're just the angel he wanted you to be."

"We both are," I corrected her. "_We_ are the Angels of Death."

"Taking out all who oppose us," Mom said.

"All that are evil," I said. "And we watch over the Saints as they do the same."

"We have a great deed to do for the Holy Father," Mom said.

"How the hell did you get pulled into all of this?" I asked. I had been wanting to know that from the moment I first recognized her.

"I received the Calling," she said. "I knew you had gotten into danger, especially knowing the kind of shit that killed your daddy. I knew I needed more than a mother's love to find you again."

"I'm glad you're safe," I said with a calm smile.

"I am, too," Mom said. "Now, go to him." She lifted Daddy's rosary out from under my shirt and kissing the crucifix. "He's waiting for you."

"I love him, Mom," I said softly, clutching the crucifix in my hand.

"And I can see in your eyes that he loves you, too," Mom said. "Go to him!"

With that, I tucked away my guns and shoved open the door. I strode inside, meeting pure horror instead of a wash of love.

Rocco was dead. He had been shot point-blank in the chest and released to God Himself. My heart lurched when I saw my two beautiful Saints, weeping over the bloody body of our dear friend. When they looked up at me, their beautiful eyes were washed with tears of the deepest grief, the deepest pain. Their tears dripped red as it ran through the blood on their faces. I was struck still, unable to move. I couldn't get any closer to such a depressing sight.

"Grace." My name had never sounded so beautiful as it flowed from both brothers' lips. I gave a bright smile, looking in turn from Murphy's eyes to Connor's. They stood from their knees and made their way toward me, each one placing an arm around one of my shoulders and leaning into me. My arms found their way around their backs, holding my love and brother close, as if afraid to ever let them go again.

"It's all over, my sweet love," Connor whispered. "It's all over now."

"But things will never be the same again," I said. "Rocco is gone." With that, I pulled myself from the Saints' arms and knelt before our dead friend. I made the Sign of the Cross and bent my head in silent prayer. I was soon joined by Connor and Murphy, kneeling on either side of me.

"_And Shepherds we shall be_

_For thee, my Lord, for thee_

_Power hath descended forth from thy Hand-_"

With the click of a gun, another voice entered the mix. Both boys aimed their guns, but we were not met with a threat.

"_That our feet may swiftly carry out Thy Command_

_We will flow a River forth unto Thee_

_And teeming with souls shall it ever be_

_In nomini Patri_

_Et Filii_

_Spiritus Sancti_."

It was the mystery assailant who had shot us all before.

_No, it was not_. He was the boys' father, Noah MacManus, come home to his sons after God knows how long. He took his sons' bloodstained faces in his hands, tilting them up to meet his eyes. We were all silent, relishing in the calm of a beautiful, sweet moment.

* * *

Because Connor's injuries were so severe, I insisted on taking him back to my house to get him more comfortable while Murphy and Noah stayed behind to clean up the crime scene and take care of Rocco's body.

The first thing I did when we got to my bedroom was set Connor down onto the bed so he wouldn't have to put any more weight on his severely battered body. I then brought out all the wet towels I could get from the bathroom.

"I need your shirt off, darling," I said when I sat down next to him on the bed. "I need to clean up those wounds of yours."

"Yeah, of course," Connor said in a daze. He was in a mixture of shock and awe from what had happened in the last couple hours, and I knew that I needed to take care of him. However, when he tried to pull the bloody t-shirt off over his head, he was clearly in too much pain to get it all the way off.

"Here, let me help you," I said quietly, slipping my hands under the shirt and easing it off of his bloody, sculpted chest. "Oh, God," I choked when I saw the number of wounds he held. It was way worse than I thought. "Alright, I can do this," I whispered to myself. But, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I couldn't do it.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm right here," Connor whispered, taking my face gently in his hands as I started to cry.

"I just can't believe someone could do this to you!" I wept, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Well, you took the man who did it and you gave him his due," he said, wiping each tear away as it fell from my eyes.

"I did," I said. The sobs were short-lived, and I was soon able to breathe normally. "I made sure he suffered."

"Every time he hit me, I thought of you," Connor said. "For every bit of pain I felt, I thanked the Good Lord that it was all coming to me while you were untouched."

"And then they took me away from you," I said, shuddering a little as I remembered Pappa Joe dragging me out of the basement.

"I thought he was going to rape you," Connor said sadly, pressing three kisses to my forehead.

"I have the Good Lord to thank that he didn't," I said. I then took one of the rags and started to wipe the blood from his face.

"I don't know what I'd do without ya, Grace," Connor said as he leaned back on the pillows. "You really are my guardian angel."

"It's quite simple," I said as I moved to the wounds on his chest and stomach. "I love you with all my heart. When you are hurt or scared or sad, I will do whatever it takes to protect you and comfort you." Connor's response was a beautiful, calm smile. When I had wiped away the last of the blood, I leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"You're so good to me, Grace," Connor said, sighing deeply as he gazed into my eyes. "I feel like I don't deserve ya."

"Now, why do you think that?" I asked, using a dry towel to wipe the water from the areas I had cleaned.

"You're such a wonderful girl," Connor said. "You love me and you have every desire to take care of me. I can't think of anything better."

"I have my holy Calling to be your guardian angel, but I also has my heart's calling to be your ideal companion," I said, bending down to kiss a few particularly bad bruises on his chest. "I intend to follow that calling with all the strength I possess in me."

"It's a very noble cause," Connor remarked with a smile.

"I would certainly hope so," I said, taking his hands within mine, "because I don't intend to stop anytime soon."

"Good," Connor said, "because I'll be keeping you around for a _long_ time." After a long pause as I bandaged a few of his wounds, Connor added, "You'll definitely be a mother someday."

"What makes you say that?" I inquired. Of course, I had wondered the same thing myself, but because of my lack of experience in the dating pool, it had never been more than wishful thinking.

"Ya just seem to have this instinct to look after people and take care o' them," Connor said. He was looking up at the ceiling, deep in thought as he spoke. "An' not just with me. I've seen it with Murph and Ellie, too."

"I guess you're right," I said. "Sometimes, I think that I should have been the doctor instead of Ellie."

"What kinda career did ya want before ya got mixed up with us?" asked Connor.

"Honestly, I never had any idea," I said. "I hold a degree in architecture, but it's not really going to take me anywhere now. I just never had any idea where I wanted to go in life."

"Do ya think ya made the right choice by comin' with us?" he asked, looking straight into my eyes.

"Absolutely," I said. "We may have our dark moments and our dangers, but I know that I'll be with you guys until death do us part."

"You're so brave, Grace," Connor said, moving to sit right next to me. "Most girls would just bed us and stay outta the way."

"You are so much more to me than that," I said, looping a hand gently around the back of Connor's neck.

"I know," said Connor. "And it does my heart good to know that."

"You meant the world to me when I had no one," I said, looking directly into his eyes. "My daddy was dead, my mom was hiding, I didn't have a boyfriend, and Ellie – my only friend – was nowhere to be found. I had no one." My voice cracked slightly on my last sentence.

"You have a whole family now," said Connor. Ever-so-gently, he gathered my hair away from my face, probably to get a better look at the smile that was invading my face. "Your mother came back to ya, and you've got Murphy and me and our Da. We'll never leave ya."

"That's good to know," I said with a cute laugh.

"Now, there's just one tiny little problem here," said Connor. His tone was playful, so I knew it was nothing bad.

"And what's that?" I asked, leaning in a little.

"There's something missing," Connor whispered, looking right into my soul.

"Oh?" He had a knack for getting me itchy with curiosity. He said nothing in return. He just took me into his arms, laid me next to him on the bed, and pulled me into a long, sweet, soulful kiss.

* * *

When Murphy and Noah got to the house that night, the four of us stayed up late into the night. Per my 'protective instinct', I cleaned and bandaged Murphy's wounds. I also insisted that the boys rest for at least a few hours to help heal their beaten bodies.

"Your boys really have shown me an exciting life," I said, tilting my head back and inhaling a deep whiff of Noah's cigar smoke.

"I always knew they'd be great men," Noah said, "ever since the day they were born."

"They've both been so good to me," I said, smiling at each one in turn. "Connor especially."

"The man's really fallin' for her, Da," Murphy said with a tired smirk. "He's totally in love with her."

"There's nothin' wrong with tha'," Noah said. I couldn't tell which son he meant to direct it to. "You boys both deserve someone special in yer lives."

"My daddy told me the same thing, right before he was killed… that I deserved someone special." My voice had grown quiet and distant as I remembered my daddy's smooth, deep voice, telling me to spread my angel wings and love like there was no tomorrow.

"Well, it look like ya've found him, dear," Noah said calmly, reaching over and patting me on the shoulder.

"You know, I think you're right," I said, sending Connor a quick smile from where I sat in one of the armchairs.

"Now, are ya sure ya're alright with this line o' work?" Noah asked, quite effectively changing the subject.

"Believe me, Da, she _hates_ bein' asked that," Connor said with a slight laugh. Our eyes met, and we exchanged a knowing smile.

"No, it's okay," I said. "And yes, I'm alright with it. I've asked myself that same question several times over the last several days, but I'm as sure as I'm alive."

"I would just hate ta see a pretty young lady like yerself bein' pulled into this if ya weren't sure of it," Noah said. There was another pause.

"I'm as sure as the bullets that now sit in my body," I said. My shoulder and leg had never fully healed from the gunshot wounds, but at least I could walk and function without any impairment.

"I'm truly sorry for havin' done that to ya, my dear," Noah whispered across the room. "Ya don't deserve that kinda pain."

"I accept your apology," I said genuinely, "as long as you accept mine for doing the exact same thing to you."

"I hold nothin' against ya," said Noah. "And I'm willin' to accept you inta my heart as a daughter, if ya will look upon me as a father in yer life."

"I will," I promised, laying a hand over my heart. My eyes shed tears of pure joy. "I will."


	14. The Final Showdown

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 14**: The Final Showdown

_My fingers did not shake as I pulled the trigger, spraying both bullets and blood all over the dingy walls. Ten more men being sent to their Judgment by the Angel of Death._

_As I bent down to check the bodies, I noticed that there was an eleventh. It was a woman. Wait, that wasn't right. There were only the ten men. Believe me, I'd counted and re-counted when I burst through that door. Sure enough, this mystery woman was lying on the floor in front of me, her blood spilling onto the concrete._

"_Grace Reilly, do you know what you've just done?"_

_The voice came from nowhere, and it was the exact same voice that had sent me my Calling._

"_What have I done?" I asked, craning my head to the heavens._

"_You've taken an innocent life," the voice said._

"_What?" I protested. "No! I wouldn't do that!"_

"_Look at her," the voice said. "That woman was an innocent. She had a husband and two beautiful little twin girls."_

"_No, that's not possible!" I insisted, trying to push away the biting frustration in my heart. "It's just not possible!"_

"_You took an innocent life… and you will be punished."_

I bolted upright, instantly awake. My eyes were flooded with distressed tears for what seemed like the millionth time. Every night since the incident with Pappa Joe, I had been having the most dreadful nightmares. Every time, I took an innocent life without intending to. Every time, I was jolted awake with my breathing heavy and a cold sweat covering me from head to toe. I had taken to sharing Connor's bed – with nothing more intimate than him holding me in his arms – purely for comfort, but it was doing nothing to quiet my growing fear.

Was I someday going to take an innocent life?

Would I someday be responsible for leaving a young child without their mommy or daddy?

"What's the matter, love?" Connor's groggy voice met my ears. "Was it another nightmare?" I could only nod in response. Despite it being maybe the thirtieth time this had happened, he was concerned nonetheless.

"What am I supposed to do?" I wondered, leaning forward and pulling my knees to my chest. "I can't go on like this forever."

"I'll always be here to comfort ya," Connor said, pressing a delicate kiss to the side of my forehead, "but you're really startin' to wear down."

"I know," I said, leaning a little further into him. "I'm different from what I was a couple months ago."

"Very," Connor continued. "You're obviously not sleepin' the same, and you just seem to carry yourself different. You just don't seem as happy as you once were."

"It's a big burden to carry," I said with a sigh. "It's hard carrying those men's lives on my conscience. I feel like I'm reliving it every day."

"You don't have to do this with us," Connor whispered, kissing my cheek. "You don't have to be a part of this."

"It's not just about the Calling anymore, Connor," I protested, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "It's about standing beside the man I love and protecting him at all costs."

"You really do love me?" Connor asked, holding my chin in his tattooed hand.

"I really do love you," I said, my lips spreading into a smile.

"I love you, too," Connor said just before leaning in for a kiss.

* * *

Despite Connor's constant reassurance, I didn't seem to get any better. The nightmares kept coming back, night after night, no matter what I did to stop them. I wanted to just stop completely and simply live a normal life, but the Saints and the Angel were not finished… at least not in Boston. We had one more mission to complete.

After Pappa Joe fled his house, he had gone into hiding, but he had been captured and now, three months later, he was finally standing trial. Unfortunately, we knew how charismatic he was whenever the justice system was concerned, so there was no way the court would land a conviction. He was going to walk.

And we were not going to stand for it.

"This could be the last job I'm doing with you guys," I announced as all six of us stood together in the living room back at my house. Since the police still had no idea that my mom and I were involved with any of our recent crimes, my house was a perfectly safe place for us to be. Immediately after our last hit, I had felt nervous about allowing everyone to stay there, but now things had calmed down.

For the assault in the courthouse, we were divided into two groups. The Saints (Noah, Connor, and Murphy) would do most of the work, including speaking their mission to the trial's audience. The Angels (Ellie, Mom, and I) would serve more for emphasis and putting three shots in Pappa Joe's black heart.

"Why is that, darlin'?" Connor asked. All of our bags were packed and we were all dressed. Now, it was only a matter of load-and-go.

"I think the Angels need a rest," Ellie spoke up.

"Exactly," said Mom. "My little girl and I need some time to heal."

"And I want just a little more peace and quiet in my life," I added.

"We understand," said Murphy. "Well, then, let's make this the biggest and baddest showdown of your entire career!"

The six of us made our way out to the streets, where – to my horror – an FBI van was parked on the curb, waiting for us. Did we _seriously_ make it _this_ far just to get caught?

"Oh, shit!" The words escaped my lips in a scared whisper.

"Fuck," Murphy said. "Connor must not have told ya."

"Yeah, a few members of the FBI 'ave been backin' us for the last few months," Connor said, earning himself a death glare from me. Before I could give him my worst of earfuls, my name was called.

"Grace Reilly!"

I snapped my head to the side to see the gloating face of Special Agent Paul Smecker. "So, I see you've found your mommy again," he teased, looking back and forth between Mom and me.

"Cut the crap," I snapped at him. "I still don't like how you treated me right before my interrogation."

"Sweetheart, let's just let bygones be bygones and get our asses in the van," Ellie suggested bluntly.

"Yeah, we've got some shit to take care of," said Murphy. "So get yer skinny ass in the van!"

* * *

When we pulled up to the rear entrance of the courthouse, we moved almost like robots. We exited the van, entered through the back door, and tossed our weapons over the metal detector so they wouldn't be flagged as we made our way through.

All six of us strode purposefully in the direction of our chosen courtroom. We walked in a single-file horizontal line: Murphy, Noah, Connor, me, Mom, and Ellie. We were on our way to take out a bastard that had spilled too much blood over recent years, including Rocco's and that of my precious Irishmen.

"On three," Murphy directed as we reached the courtroom door. My heart immediately began to pound as Murphy and Connor drew their Desert Eagles and Mom and Ellie and I drew our revolvers.

"One…" Murphy began.

"Two…" Connor added.

"Three!" The boys finished together.

The Saints burst through the door in one fluidic motion.

Panic.

Connor jumped into the press booth to get the cameras shut off, Murphy dragged Pappa Joe out of the defendant's bench and put him on his knees on the floor, and Noah stood between the defendant's and prosecutor's tables, staring down the crowd with a menacing glare.

"Drop the fucking camera!" Noah screamed at the scattered news reporters, waving his gun as his eyes flared with rage.

"Up top; drop your guns!" Connor shouted, pointing his Desert Eagles at the security guards up in the balcony. "One at a time – _now_!" Meanwhile, Noah was dragging the frightened judge from his booth and tossing him in the back of the room. When both boys finally took their positions behind a frightened Pappa Joe, the Angels knew it was time for their march.

We entered the room, walking in a steady pace, united as the Angels of Death. Mom, our chosen leader, wore all black: a menacing black trench coat and combat boots, along with black jeans and a black t-shirt - and her revolvers gleamed as she crossed them over her chest. Ellie and I matched in clothing – our signature blue jeans and black leather vests over white t-shirts and black high-heeled boots – and our weapons were held down by our sides.

Everyone stared at us with a mixture of awe and fear. 'What the hell is happening?' is exactly what each and every frightened pair of eyes was asking me. I kept my gaze locked straight ahead, completely unwilling to give these people the slightest shred of an answer.

I jumped on the prosecutor's table, Ellie leapt onto the defendant's table, and Mom took her place in the aisle, exactly ten feet in front of Pappa Joe.

"You people," Noah began, looking into the eyes of each frightened member of the crowd, "have been chosen… to reveal our existence to the world! You will witness what happens here today… and you will tell of it later! All eyes to the front."

"Now's a good time to fucking-" Pappa Joe attempted to cut in, but Murphy cut him off.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth!" he screamed, kicking the man to the floor and immediately yanking him back up.

After a long moment of silence, the fire alarm began to go off, signaling our next move. Noah took his place behind our victim while Connor and Murphy joined Ellie and me, respectively, on top of the two tables. It was time for the boys to make their fateful speech.

"Now you will receive us!" Connor began, his voice spewing forth the fury that boiled within his heart.

"We do not ask for your poor or your hungry!" shouted Murphy.

"We do not want your tired and sick!" Connor screamed.

"It is your corrupt we claim!" Murphy declared.

"It is your evil that will be sought by us!" shouted Connor. My heart began to flutter with admiration.

"With every breath, we shall hunt them down!" shouted Murphy.

"Each day, we will spill their blood 'til it _rains down from the skies_!" The ferocity of Connor's words brought a slight pang of fear to my heart.

"Do not kill, do not rape, do not steal," Murphy continued. "These are principles which _every_ man of _every_ faith can embrace!"

"These are not polite suggestions!" Connor shouted. "These are codes of behavior, and those of you that ignore them will pay the dearest cost!"

"There are varying degrees of evil," Murphy called out. "We urge you lesser forms of filth not to push the bounds and cross over… into true corruption… into our domain!"

"For if you do, one day you will look behind you and you will see We Three, and our Angels of Death!" At Connor's last three words, Ellie and I cocked our six-shooters, jumped down from the tables, and proudly came up at either side of our proud leader. "And on that day," Connor continued, "you will reap it!"

"And we will send you to whatever god you wish," Murphy concluded. He and Connor once more took their positions behind our now-trembling victim.

The Angels raised their weapons to the sky, looked straight into the eyes of our victim, and recited our death greeting.

"_And so the Angel came down, _

_and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. _

_And from that moment on, _

_she was the Angel of Death."_

When we finished, we re-aimed our guns in the direction of Pappa Joe's heart, signaling the Three that they could say their beloved family prayer.

"_And shepherds we shall be_

_For thee, my Lord, for thee_

_Power hath descended forth from Thy Hand_

_That our feet may swiftly carry out Thy Command_

_And we shall flow a River forth to Thee_

_And teeming with souls shall it ever be._"

"In nomini Patri," Noah spoke.

"Et Filii," Connor added.

"Spiritus Sancti." Murphy's words were the last sound anyone heard before six gunshots simultaneously rang out in the courtroom. The shots of the Three were so heavy that Pappa Joe's head blew into several large, bloody pieces right before our very eyes. We didn't even have time to avert our gazes.

The courtroom was empty in seconds, save for the six of us. My trembling hands dropped my six-shooter to the floor, and my weary eyes began to fill with tears. I looked to my side, and my teary eyes confirmed that Ellie was also in shock.

"We…" she struggled to get the words out. "We did it!"

"Yes…" I said slowly. "Yes we did." Just as the two of us started to collapse, I was caught in the arms of my precious Connor while Murphy caught Ellie's falling form. As we cried in our saviors' arms, Connor's gentle whisper reached my ears.

"Shh, shh," he cooed. "It's all over now. It's all over. You were very brave."

* * *

As the Saints and their Angel sat in a dimly-lit motel room that night, a strange silence had filled their hearts. Noah and I sat in chairs by the window, with Noah smoking a wonderfully-smelling cigar while the boys lay back in bed. Connor lay flat, stared aimlessly at the ceiling, while Murphy was curled up on his side. Both seemed to be deep in thought.

"How far are we gonna take this, Da?" Connor finally asked. It was one of the very few times I had seen a look of fear on his beautiful face.

"The question is not how far," Noah said after a moment of thought and a puff of his cigar. "The question is: do you possess the constitution, the depth of faith, to go as far as is needed?"

"I'll follow you three to the ends of the Earth and back," I said, my voice just above a whisper.

"And we'll all be glad to have ya," Noah said, sending me a very fatherly smile.

"It really is amazin' to have a woman be a part o' this," Murphy said.

"Oh? Why is that?" I was curious.

"You're showin' the world that you're not weak or helpless," said Connor.

"You're showin' the world that a woman can do anythin'," Murphy added.

"That's a nice way of explaining it," I said, basking in their pride. "I've never been one to be weak or submissive. I always took the bull by the horns and led the course of my own life. A lot of people actually saw that as intimidating."

"Anyone who ever had a problem with ya is _really_ missin' out," Murphy said with a smirk. "You're all ours now."

"I really love you guys," I said, smiling to each member of my new family. "I really, really do."


	15. The Angels' Hope

_**The Boondock Saints: **__Angel of Death, Angel of Love_

By: Raven in Red

"_And so the Angel came down, and swiftly bestowed the blow of Death upon him. And from that moment on, she was the Angel of Death."_ After her parents' murder and a fateful St. Patty's Day introduction to the MacManus brothers, Grace Reilly receives a calling from God to be the Saints' guardian angel, and she takes her job quite seriously.

**Chapter 15**: The Angels' Hope

I should have known better than to think that our lives would quiet down after taking out Pappa Joe. Nope.

Enough of the bystanders from his trial had banded together and given a good enough description to create sketches of all six of us, effectively uprooting our entire lives and forcing us to become fugitives. Finally, the decision was made that we were going to have to leave the country.

"And I thought I was going to be able to settle down," Ellie complained. It was the morning of our departure, and she and Mom and I were gathered in her house to do some last minute packing.

"I know," I said with a heavy sigh. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, babe," Ellie said. "I just hate it when things don't turn out the way we planned."

"One must always learn to do the best with what life hands to them," Mom said wisely.

"I agree," I said. "We're just going to have to make the best of things and stick together."

"You've got Connor," Ellie said.

"And you've got Murphy," I pointed out. "You two seem to have gotten quite close." It was true; Ellie and Murphy _had_ gotten quite close during the last few months, but not as a couple. They were more like old childhood friends.

"He's been really great to me," Ellie said with a smile. But her smile was quickly turned inside out. "I don't know; I just have this nagging feeling that something's not right."

"You're leaving your family," I said gently. "It's a big change."

"I didn't even get to say goodbye to my parents," Ellie said, her sigh sharp and heavy. "They're away on their vow renewal honeymoon, so I had to just leave a note for them. I only got to talk to my brother, but he's all the way out in Montana for undergrad."

"Mom's the only family I've got left," I said, pausing to send my mother a quick smile.

"I just keep feeling like this shit's not over yet," Ellie said. The unease in her voice was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. "_Some_body else is going to try to fuck with us again. I can _feel_ it. Who knows: there could be _one_ more of those mob guys that we haven't gotten yet."

"I know this sounds stupid, but just try not to worry," I said. "All six of us are going to look out for one another."

"My baby's right," Mom said. "We're knit together just like any true family. Nothing can break so strong a bond."

* * *

Later that morning, the three of us packed our last bags, said goodbye to the Boston we loved, and started our journey down to the Harbor. Noah had maneuvered his way into securing us each a spot on board a container ship of 'questionable' intent that was headed for Ireland. For all we knew, we might never touch American soil ever again.

As we walked, I began to understand Ellie's nagging feeling. Something just _didn't_ feel right. I felt like we were being watched. I felt like we were being followed. I felt like we were going to be caught at any moment.

Leaving America was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I was born and raised on American soil, and I had always been very patriotic. Mom and Daddy always made sure I knew what a great country we were leaving in and how, in America, I had just about every opportunity my heart could ever desire. Now, I was leaving. I had _no_ idea how Ireland would feel to me. I had _no_ idea how I was going to adjust to such a drastically new life. All I had to count on were the love of my family and friends and my undying faith in the Good Lord.

It was all I would ever need.

As we got closer to the docks, it became necessary for us to travel in lesser known and uncomfortably sketchy alleyways and abandoned streets. We couldn't risk _anyone_ figuring us out, especially when we were so close to our escape.

Finally, out of nowhere, Ellie's uncomfortable thoughts were proven true. We were maybe only five or six blocks away when our no-nonsense seriousness was broken by the arrival of a stranger's voice.

"So… the Angels are escaping the oasis that is Boston."

_FUCK!_ Someone knew both who we were _and_ what our current motives were. We turned on our heels to find an unfamiliar man, leaning casually against a brick wall and smoking a cigarette. His accent was neither Russian nor Italian, so there was a good chance that he wasn't involved with either of the mobs we had so recently dealt with. He also looked strangely kind, almost as if he wanted to help us.

"What do you want?" I was the first of the three of us to speak. "In case you can't tell, we're a little busy right now."

"My name is Aidan Everson," the man said, pausing to put out his cigarette. "I've been working with your FBI friends to keep you and the Saints a secret."

"Again, I ask: what do you want?" I was quite clearly losing my patience. Whether this man was a friend of enemy, I didn't care. We had somewhere we needed to be, and we couldn't afford any delays. The last thing I needed was Connor freaking out, thinking I had been killed.

"I was supposed to catch you three before you left the country," said Aidan. "I have a message from your friend Smecker."

"Oh?" Mom was both curious and suspicious.

"You girls need to get out of here _now_," Aidan said, his voice heavy and serious.

"Yeah, we kinda already knew that," Ellie spoke up.

"No, I mean _right_ now," Aidan insisted. "The Italians are pissed about you guys taking out their leader, so they put a message out on the wire, and they're coming after you in full force."

"How much time do we have?" I asked, refusing to let myself be scared.

"Barely enough time for you guys to get to the docks in one piece," Aidan said. He then reached into his trench coat pocket and retrieved a few folded sheets of notebook paper, which he handed to me. "Here; this is all the info I've gathered about them. They know you're leaving the country, and they're targeting you three specifically, probably because of you and your mother's connection to Owen Reilly, and Ellie's ties to both of you."

"Owen Reilly was my father," I said, my voice just above a whisper.

"Exactly," said Aidan. "Now, I left a number at the bottom of the last page. I need you to call me every week so I can make sure you're safe. It won't take them long to figure out where you are if any of this gets out. They're going to keep the operation alive until each one of you is dead and dumped in the Harbor to feed the fish."

"Thanks, Aidan," I said, my voice just beginning to quiver with fear. "I really appreciate it."

"Now, go!" Aidan insisted. "And don't forget to call!"

"I won't," I promised. With that, Mom and Ellie and I took off, leaving Aidan behind as we sprinted towards our ultimate fates.

* * *

My hands shook as I retrieved the papers from my coat pocket that night. The boys and Ellie and I were huddled in a darkened corner of one of the lower cargo decks, our only light being a small oil lantern. Mom and Noah had already gone to sleep for the night.

"So I guess ya girls made it just in time," Murphy observed as I brought the papers to the light.

"I guess so," Ellie said, placing a comforting arm around my shoulders.

"These men had bad blood with my daddy," I explained. "So that means they have to take out Mom and me. They'll stop at nothing. It's almost like they're _jealous_ of the Russians for taking my daddy out when it should have been them, and that's just _twisted_."

"This is gettin' _really_ deep for ya, Gracie," Connor said, reaching over to hold my free hand. "When problems run in families, they never seem to stop until everyone's dead."

"Exactly," I said, taking a few calming deep breaths. "I have no idea exactly how safe we'll be when we get there. Aidan's gonna take care of us and cover our tracks, but I just have no idea how it's all gonna turn out in the end."

"This is one o' those situations where all we can do is pray to the Good Lord," Murphy said in a low, somber voice.

"I just can't believe how I got so involved in this," I said. "If I had never latched onto you guys after my daddy's murder, I would have been found lying dead on the floor of my house. I found you guys just in time."

"Aye," Connor agreed, squeezing my hand just a little tighter.

"Is there a specific name we need to watch out for?" Murphy asked, gesturing at the paper in an effort to change the subject.

"Yeah, Aidan did mention one," I said, thankful for his interjection. "Concezio Yakavetta, a.k.a. Pappa Joe's revenge-driven son, is running the search for us. Apparently, he came up to Boston to take over the show when he heard of his father's murder."

"Does Aidan think he'll try to come after us?" Connor asked gently.

"Yes, he does," I admitted. "And that's not even the worst part."

"What do ya mean?" Murphy coaxed gently.

"I just hate dragging so many other people into this," I said, my eyes threatening to release a few tears. "If it's about Mom and me, then we should be the only ones involved, but because I'm with all of you as well, you are all equal targets in their eyes."

"Gracie, none o' that matters to us," Connor insisted firmly. "We're gonna stand by you no matter what we have to go through."

"Babe, we've been through hell and back together," Ellie added in. "I'm not just going to abandon you when our lives are on the line."

"And neither will we," Murphy declared.

"Thank you guys so much," I said, reaching around to squeeze everyone's hands. "I really love each and every one of you."

"We love you, too," Connor said, pressing a soothing kiss to my cheek.

"Don't worry, babe," Ellie said, her pretty green eyes holding a sparkle of hope. "We'll all get through this."

"Together," Murphy said.

"Together," I repeated. "Always." Then, I realized something. "You know, I'm _really_ tempted to suit up and go back home for the sole purpose of blowing Concezio Yakavetta off the face of the Earth."

"Well, ya can't win 'em all, darlin'," Connor said, almost mournfully.

"If we ever go back someday, then ya can have first shot when we kill him," Murphy said, giving me a playful punch in the shoulder.

"Much obliged, my dear brother," I said with a smile. "Much obliged."


End file.
